The Illusion of Truth
by Zanne Chaos
Summary: (COMPLETE!! 8-10-02) Set immediately post-TRY, Filia finds an injured Valgaav who has survived the attack.
1. Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own the characters. Any of 'em. Some of 'em, I wish I had for my own personal harem, but that's an entirely different matter. ^_^ Be warned. This is not a happy-happy-joy-joy feel-good 'fic. BUT...it will have a sequel. Rated R for Adult Situations, Language, and Violence.  
This little arc will have a Valgaav/Filia slant. Now, I'm definitely more of a Xellos/Filia supporter, but I can't deny there was chemistry between Valgaav and Filia in TRY either. This is just my little exploration of it. The premise is set immediately post-TRY; what if Valgaav had survived the attack on Darkstar? What if Darkstar's essence has acted as a buffer, absorbing the brunt of the onslaught? Feedback's appreciated. Flames get the Dragon Slave.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
_by Zanne Chaos_  
**Chapter One**

  
  
She stood at the edge of the world, looking out over the ruins of her past, searching for the rest of her life, perhaps. Maybe the real world never ended, a continuous circle where life met death in harmony, and every ending was really just a new beginning.  
  
But for Filia Ul Copt, the wasteland of destruction that seemed to stretch out before her as far as she could see, a bloody portrait of death, it was the edge of the world.  
  
Her world.  
  
She was alone now. The others had gone off on their own, quietly. For such a tremendous victory, the mood was unusually somber. It was a victory, but it was hard to celebrate when so many lay dead.  
  
Or maybe, it was just her.  
  
Maybe the others were merely tired, exhausted after the trying day. Why should it really affect them? Especially that Mazoku. Nothing made the slightest bit of difference to them, she supposed.  
  
It wasn't the bodies of their people, everything they had ever known, stretched out before them, when the Overworlders tore them apart.  
  
It was everyone she had ever known and loved.  
  
Shivering, she hugged herself, looking at the fresh bodies strewn about amid the ruins of the death they themselves had once placed here. For a time, she wondered how she could possibly build pyres and cairns for them all. Filia decided against it. They died here, among the legacy they had built. This place was their cairn, as it was for the ones they had killed, the ones they had left in the sun to decay.  
  
This was their memorial, a tribute to hate. She would leave it as it were, in hopes that anyone else who might ever come out to this desolate place which had only known sorrow for the last thousand years would see, and understand.  
  
This was what hate left behind. Maybe now people would see that hate wasn't the way.  
  
A soft sound behind her made Filia whirl about, reaching for her mace.  
  
"It's just me!" the small fox-man cried, a few feet away from her, cringing a bit as she brought the mace up on reflex. Filia sighed and lowered her hand.  
  
"Jillas. I thought you'd left with the others."  
  
"I started to, but..."  
  
"But?"  
  
"I don't know where to go now." He looked out in the direction where any of them had last seen Valgaav alive, before they defeated Darkstar. "I can't quite bring myself to leave."  
  
She followed his gaze, feeling a fresh lump of grief forming in her throat. "I know what you mean."  
  
"I just can't...I don't want to believe he's gone."  
  
"I'm sorry, Jillas," she whispered, hanging her head. She hadn't wanted to fight him. She knew why he was the way he had been.  
  
She understood.  
  
"There wasn't any other way," the fox-man acknowledged, quietly moving to her side.  
  
They stood together, just looking out across the land.  
  
"I don't know where to go now either," Filia admitted. "Home is...gone."  
  
"So's mine. Everyone, my family, they were killed. I guess that's why Lord Valgaav helped me."  
  
"He wasn't a bad man," Filia whispered, feeling tears sting, then freeze her eyes. "Just a hurting one."  
  
Jillas drew in a deep breath. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's find a town for the night. This cold air can't be good for you."  
  
"I can't say good-bye," she protested. "Not to anyone here." She paused, hugging herself again. "I should be out there too."  
  
"But you're not."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"Why are you the only survivor of your kind? Why am I? I wonder that sometimes. But the fact remains, I am alive. It means, I think, that we still have a purpose somehow." He took her arm gently. "We'll just have to find out what those purposes are."  
  
Filia nodded slowly, reluctantly, knowing he was right. As she began to turn away to follow him, something that was just a little out of place caught her eye, just for a moment.  
  
"Jillas, wait."  
  
Narrowing her eyes, she stared intently into the distance, trying to catch another glimpse of color that had stood out among the white, the red, and the gold.  
  
A brief suggestion of aqua.  
  
"What is it, Miss Filia?"  
  
She didn't answer him, still staring. Another gust of wind came along, and this time, she was certain of what she saw.  
  
"Oh, gods."  
  
"What? What is it, Miss Filia?"  
  
Ignoring Jillas, she hiked her skirts up a bit, jumping over limbs and snowdrifts, running past the bodies, not paying them heed. There was one body out there that she _would_ build a pyre for, and a cairn.  
  
Someone who deserved that much, at least. She wasn't going to leave him out there in the cold, to be forgotten. Her kind had done enough.  
  
Her vision blurred from tears as she ran, hating how much her progress was impeded, and loathing the moment she would arrive. She didn't want to see him, lying there broken, but she didn't have a choice. He deserved the respect of as proper a funeral that she could give.  
  
As she drew nearer, she saw a leg enclosed by pants, once white, now discolored with dirt and blood, unmoving. Behind her, she could hear Jillas shouting her name, running as well to catch up with her. Filia didn't stop.  
  
Finally, she reached him, and moaned softly in pain, panting to catch her breath as she looked at the bloodied, scorched, and battered body laying in the snow.  
  
"Miss Filia, what were--" Jillas stopped abruptly, and dropped to his knees with a low, mournful keening sound. "Lord Valgaav," he whispered.  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, she reached under her skirt, ripping off one of the layers of her petticoat, and walked over to his body, kneeling down in the snow. She shoved the material into the snow, trying to get it sufficiently wet to wipe away the blood on his face. He was dead, it didn't matter now to him, but it mattered to her. It was the only thing left she could possibly do for him. Somehow, it would have to be enough.  
  
Choking on sobs, struggling to breathe, Filia reached out and began gently wiping the cold, damp material over his brow and down the side of his face. The horn that had protruded from his forehead, the legacy of his Mazoku blood, was gone. He looked calmer, perhaps even peaceful now. If there was any justice in all of creation, he was somewhere where he wouldn't be hurting anymore.   
  
As the material brushed over a raw wound, his brows knitted together slightly and his lips parted. Filia froze, her eyes widening, tears running unchecked down her face. With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched his cheek.  
  
The flesh was still warm, even feverishly so.  
  
It felt like the wind was knocked out of her lungs, and she reached for his neck, struggling to breathe against the imaginary vise-like grip around her ribcage, feeling for a pulse.  
  
It was there. Thin, weak, thready, but there.  
  
"Jillas," she gasped, "he's still alive."  
  
The fox-man fell silent. "What?"  
  
"Valgaav's alive!" The stunned fog that had flooded her mind suddenly evaporated, leaving behind crystal clarity as her hands began to roam down his body, checking the damage, mentally cataloguing the wounds. His legs were both broken, and it felt like many of his ribs were as well, and there was likely internal damage. One of his black, feathered wings was crushed underneath him. Whether the majority of the damage was from the onslaught, or from the fall he had to have taken, she couldn't immediately tell.  
  
She didn't know how he had even survived in the first place, but it didn't matter. He was alive, and that was all that really counted.  
  
Jillas pulled his cloak off, laying it over Valgaav. "We've got to get him out of here."  
  
"Yes, but I don't dare move him yet. We need to stabilize him."  
  
"At least enough to get to the nearest town," he agreed.  
  
"No, not the nearest town! The others will likely be heading there too." Suddenly paranoid with fear, she looked around, half-expecting to see Xellos appear at any moment, subconsciously leaning forward over Valgaav to shield him. "Jillas, can you build a bed of some sort, no legs, just a board, with straps we can use to secure him? His back might be damaged. I'll do as much healing on him as I can. I'll need you to hold him steady on my back. I'll go dragon and fly south until we find a city."  
  
Jillas nodded, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve and got to his feet. "Do you want me to build a harness to strap the bed to, something that would fit you?"  
  
"That's a good idea. Gather up whatever you can find that would work, and I'll change forms later and you can take measurements to rig up something."  
  
He nodded and hurried off, finding the supplies they needed while Filia turned her attention back to Valgaav. Checking his weakened condition, she quickly dismissed the recovery spell. That was quicker, but it worked by using the target's own energy. The shape he was in, he could likely die from exhaustion long before she was finished.  
  
That left the resurrection spell, but that also drew its power from nearby life. Aside from Jillas, she was the only other possible source for miles.  
  
She sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a moment as she mentally began to prepare for the spell. At least a dragon's life-force was far greater and more potent than other lifeforms. Holding her hands over him, she began to chant.  
  


* * *

  
Jillas crouched down by Valgaav, checking him and discreetly turning his attention away from Filia. She closed her eyes and began the transformation out of her dragon body, and once she was done, she looked to the city in the distance. It would take them another two hours of travel on foot to get there, by her estimation. It was as close as she dared to take them in her dragon form, lest any of the residents realized her true nature. No one could know she was a Golden dragon, because if word got back to anyone else, it might lead them to Valgaav.  
  
"How did he fare?" she asked.  
  
"He's still feverish. He hasn't really regained consciousness yet," Jillas replied. Filia crouched on Valgaav's other side, checking the progression of the wounds. "I thought at one point he was waking up, but, apparently not."  
  
"His pulse is stronger, at least. We'll have to carry him the rest of the way. How're you feeling?"  
  
"I can manage that," Jillas replied, looking down at their patient. "Anything for Lord Valgaav."  
  
Gently, she brushed his aqua-toned hair out of his face. It was different than before, a softer, paler color, and it lacked its unruly, spiky appearance. Instead, it fell in smooth waves straight down past his shoulders now. "You walk in front, Jillas. I'll walk behind so I can monitor how he's doing."  
  
"Good idea. I'll also keep watch for potential trouble ahead. I might just have the one eye left, but it's still sharp as a knife." He paused, then dug into a pocket. "I have some money, enough for a couple nights at an inn."  
  
Filia nodded. "I too have some gold coins left from the expenses I was given for my mission. Together, we should be fine for a week, maybe two."  
  
"What then?"  
  
Filia frowned slightly, thinking. "I can sell my headdress, as well as a few other items of jewelry I own. They're pure gold, so they should fetch a tidy sum. With that, we can purchase a dwelling. The money would go further in the long run if we did not have to keep paying for a room." She refrained from mentioning that the jewelry was largely ceremonial, and it wasn't allowed for anyone other than a Golden to be in possession of them. It no longer mattered, and it was part of her past. They needed to survive for the future.  
  
"Yes. I can also try to obtain work fixing things," Jillas suggested. "I'm good with my hands. Once we get there, the next day I'll go out and see about finding work."  
  
She smiled warmly at him. "I don't know what I'd have done without your help, Jillas."  
  
The fox-man positively glowed in a bashful sort of way. "Well, it's nothing I wouldn't do for anybody who's helping my lord."  
  
"We're still a few hours away." Filia moved to the foot of the makeshift bed, preparing to lift it. "We better get started now if we want to reach the city before sundown."  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	2. Chapter Two

**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Two

  
  
Filia sat on the bare mattress, looking at Valgaav. After some degree of debating during their hike to the city, which had turned out to take them four hours, what with carrying Valgaav and taking several breaks, they decided it was best to get the rooms, then smuggle him up with a levitation spell. The fewer people who knew he was there, the better.  
  
Because Filia knew more about healing spells and treating injuries, she took the larger of the two rooms they rented, and using their bedding, they made a makeshift cot for Valgaav on the floor, where there would be enough room for her to straighten his broken wing out and set it properly.  
  
By the time they had finished cleaning off the blood and grime, and resetting the splints, rewrapping the injuries, and casting another healing spell, it was extremely late. Jillas had turned in, planning to set off looking for work first thing in the morning, and Filia was sorely tempted to do the same.  
  
But she was afraid something might happen while she slept. As tired as she was, what if he woke up, and she didn't hear him call? What if someone found them, and tried to kill him? What if his condition worsened? Too many things could go wrong.  
  
Filia's body felt like it was one gigantic bruise. It was so hard to believe that that morning, just that morning, her people were still alive. Darkstar had not yet been summoned. It was a lifetime ago. She was battle-weary, and emotionally drained. Her arms ached from keeping them as steady as possible while helping Jillas carry Valgaav, and so did her back and shoulders. Her feet were tender and sore from all the walking she had done that day, and draining her own lifeforce for the resurrection spell had sapped a great deal of her strength.  
  
All she wanted to do was lay down and relax, but knew if she did, she'd be asleep within an instant. So she forced herself to sit up straight, in a perfect posture, on her now-bare bed, watching Valgaav.  
  
As the hours passed, and the ache her body caused her head to pound with a dull throb, Filia's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She had to adjust the position of her feet on the floor to keep her balance, and several times had snapped awake as she almost fell over. Determined to fight off the fatigue, she began to recite poetry under her breath.  
  


* * *

  
It was the heavy sound of something striking the ground near him that roused him from his stupor. The little surge of adrenaline, a reflexive reaction from years of battle, was enough to enable him to force his eyes open at last.  
  
Valgaav stared up at the ceiling, illuminated with the dim glow of a single candle, trying to figure out where he was. His mind was fogged over, and everything felt out of sequence and surreal. But the ache in his limbs, the pain in his chest every time he drew breath, the throbbing sting in his wings and arms, all those were definitely indisputable.  
  
Gradually, he remembered the sound, and managed to turn his head to try to find the source, unable to suppress a groan of pain. Gods, but it hurt to breathe, let alone move. A foot away from his face was a pool of golden hair attached to a white-clad body that was in a rather ungraceful and uncomfortable-looking heap on the floor next to a bed.  
  
It took Valgaav a few long moments to place where he knew that figure from, and almost snarled. She was so close, and if it didn't hurt so much to move, it would be easy to reach out and snap her neck.  
  
But his thoughts lacked conviction, although he didn't want to admit it. Someone had obviously tended to him, and she seemed to be the most logical answer to the question of whom. The last thing he wanted was to be indebted to a Golden. Why didn't she just let him die in peace? Instead, he was in even more pain than before, both physically and from the sting of failure.  
  
He had failed. Lina Inverse had defeated him. Gaav's murder lay unavenged. Even with Darkstar's power, Lina had still bested him. Now, here he was, laying on the floor in some strange room, unable to even breathe without pain, and owing his life to a Golden.  
  
Valgaav concluded his life must be some giant cosmic joke, and this was the punch line.  
  
To make matters even better, he was freezing cold. When had the cold ever bothered him? He tried to ignore it, but the involuntary shivers that tormented him made his body ache even more. If that Golden wanted to play nursemaid, the least she could do was make herself useful.  
  
He tried to speak to get her attention, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, his throat feeling as though it were rusty from years of disuse. A few more attempts proved that trying to speak above a whisper was futile, so, gritting his teeth, he reached out with his hand far enough to hit her in the head.  
  
She stirred a bit, then sat up suddenly, blinking in a dazed, bleary way. Her expression was blank with incomprehension for a few moments, then realization dawned.  
  
"You're awake!" she exclaimed.  
  
He ignored her. "Cold," he murmured. "Gimme blanket."  
  
"Oh, of course." She started to get to her feet, then stopped. Sitting back down, she reached up to unpin a large blue circular gem at her throat, removing her cloak. "You already have all of them," Filia said, and gently laid the cloak over him. "Take this instead."  
  
He just huffed softly in response, closing his eyes. Her hand touched his face briefly, then he heard the rustle of her dress as she stood, walking away.  
  
"You're burning up from fever," she explained as she knelt by his head, placing a cloth to his face that felt horribly frigid. "That's why you're so cold."  
  
Valgaav tried to jerk his head away from her, only to have stars of pain explode in his vision. "Get that away from me," he growled under his breath.  
  
She hesitated. "I'm sorry, but we need to get the fever down. Once it gets lower, you won't feel as cold."  
  
He closed his eyes, curling his lip back in a snarl, but it felt like it would take too much energy to try and protest again as she resumed sponging his face. Eventually, her hand stilled, then slid off his forehead limply. Valgaav opened his eyes, looking up at her, to find her wavering, her eyes closed, her mouth slack, having fallen asleep where she sat.  
  
By the candlelight, he could see the obvious marks exhaustion left on her face, making her look haggard and spent. He desperately tried to fight down the guilt that started to gnaw at him, but lost. She looked as bad as he felt, and was still pushing herself to tend to him, in spite of everything he'd done and said to her.  
  
By her own admission, he had all of the bedding, and now her cloak. She had apparently fallen over before from sleep, and was about to do so again. Swearing viciously under his breath at his conscience, and then from pain, he raised his hand to nudge her again.  
  
"Hey, Golden. Wake up," he whispered, his voice gruff. Her eyes snapped open, wide and dizzied with sleep. She blinked, and it clearly took effort to reopen them, raising first one lid, then the other.  
  
"C'mere and lay down," he told her, shoving the blankets down a bit. Every muscle in his body protested vehemently against the concept of motion, but he ignored it. He could deal with pain.  
  
"Nah prop'r," she mumbled, her words slurred with lassitude.  
  
"Fuck proper," he growled. "I'm freezing, and you won't be any good to me if you drop over dead from lack of sleep."  
  
He almost apologized as she visibly winced, making a tiny sound that suspiciously resembled a sob, but hardened his resolve as she moved to lay down. What did he care, anyway? It had the desired effect, and he was in too much pain and she was too worn to deal with any further arguments.  
  
Carefully, she stretched out beside him, mindful of his injuries even in her half-awake state, and reached out, pulling the blankets over them. Then, to his surprise, her hand came up to his face, and gently stroked his hair.  
  
"Res'," she murmured, and then yawned. She said something else, but her words were too indistinct, and it sounded almost as if she fell asleep in mid-sentence. Her hand, now slack, remained touching his face, her fingers still twitching slightly, brushing at his hair.  
  
Telling himself it was just to keep warm, and not for any other reason, he mustered up the strength to put his arm around her, keeping her close to his side. Then, he closed his eyes, letting himself fall back asleep.  
  
At least then, he wouldn't have to think about the Golden slumbering beside him.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	3. Chapter Three

**Note to Readers:** Thank you for the yummy feedback! Tis appreciated!  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Three

  
  
There was a soft, but incessant pounding noise. "Oneesan! Are you awake? Oneesan?" A pause. "Miss Filia?"  
  
Groaning tiredly, Filia tried to combat the lure of the voice, pulling her out of the sleep so deep it was dreamless. She didn't want to wake up. It was warm there, and comfortable. Completely lacking in the dark thoughts that plagued her days.  
  
"You better answer the door before Jillas wakes the entire area," a distinctly masculine voice said quietly near her ear, and as the words came, the surface under her hand rumbled in perfect time.  
  
Two seconds later, it hit Filia full force that she was sleeping curled up next to a male. She shot out from under the blankets and to her feet as if jabbed with a hot branding iron and looked down, blinking as spots formed in her vision from getting up to quickly, staring in incomprehension at Valgaav.  
  
He was glaring viciously at her, or at least trying to. The pain and weariness in his face took the edge from it. "I didn't mean for you to get up _that_ fast, Golden. Now go get the door."  
  
Completely flustered and at a loss for words, all she could manage to do was open the door and let Jillas in. As the door swung open, the delicious scent of sausage and pancakes laden with syrup filled her nostrils, and she realized just how hungry she really was.  
  
_Almost hungry enough to give Lina a run for her money_, Filia thought wryly as she stood aside to let the fox-man in.  
  
"I'm sorry to wake you, oneesan, but the food will get cold, and it's getting late," Jillas said, hurrying in. "I brought some for Lord Val-" He stopped, blinking. "Lord Valgaav! You're awake!" Quickly, he hurried in, setting the dishes on the table. Filia leaned against the door, letting it shut with a heavy thud, and stretched painfully, trying to work out the soreness from her back and shoulders.  
  
"Jillas."  
  
"We were so worried about you!" Jillas said. "Oneesan, that is, Miss Filia, found you and we brought you here."  
  
"Where is here?"  
  
"I'm not exactly sure," Filia said tiredly. "I didn't think to ask the name of the town last night. All I know is, we're a good day's flight to the south from where we were." She walked over to the table and picked up one of the plates, sitting down on the bed as she tried to control her ravenous hunger and eat with ladylike bites.  
  
"I'll ask when I go out today," he told her. "It might be better if you waited until tomorrow before venturing out. I'll find out as much as I can about the town first."  
  
"Thank you, Jillas."  
  
He gave her a beaming smile, then turned to his master. "Are you hungry, Lord Valgaav?"  
  
"I don't require food, remember?"  
  
"Nuh-um," Filia mumbled around a mouthful of food and swallowed. "I'm not sure how, but I'm not finding any traces of Mazoku in you anymore."  
  
His eyes widened, and she saw they were still a dark amber, but the pupils were more normal, no longer holding the slitted, feline appearance of a Mazoku.   
  
"What?"  
  
"Your horn's gone, and your eyes are different," Jillas said.  
  
"Must've happened when you bonded with Darkstar, somehow."  
  
Valgaav said nothing in response.  
  
"It wouldn't hurt you to try and eat something," Filia continued. "The sooner you get your strength back up, the sooner you'll be feeling better."  
  
"And the sooner I can get away from you. Good logic, Golden."  
  
An elven archer couldn't have hit the bullseye with truer accuracy than he did with his words. Filia shut her eyes, growing completely still as the pain spiraled outward from the vague area of the center of her chest, her lips still closed over her fork. He couldn't have hurt her worse than if he had ripped out her heart and torn it to shreds. But she deserved it for what her people did to his.  
  
Jillas kept his eyes downcast, unsure of what to say, and opted to quietly fetch the plate. "Here, Lord Valgaav. The sausage is really good," he said quietly.  
  
Filia didn't look up from her plate, eating in silence. Her appetite was gone, replaced instead with a heavy sensation in the pit of her stomach. Part of her wanted to scream at him, but the she remembered the evidence of torture his people endured at the hands of her own. Torture he had to have witnessed, remembered.  
  
Jillas helped him eat, for sitting up and handling the fork himself clearly resulted in too much pain. Valgaav managed about half of what was there before waving his servant off, shutting his eyes tightly in a silent groan.  
  
"That's enough."  
  
Filia ate as much as she could stomach, then set her plate aside, kneeling beside Valgaav, checking his wounds as Jillas gathered up the plates.  
  
"I'll be back later," he told them. "I'm going to go see if there's any work here."  
  
"All right, Jillas," she replied quietly. He slipped out of the room. So far, it seemed as if the injuries were healing well. The bedding was damp and sweat-soaked, and a hand to his forehead confirmed her suspicions.  
  
"Fever's broken," she announced, her voice wooden to her own ears. "The healing spells worked." She moved down to rest her hand on his ankle. "Can you feel this?"  
  
He was quiet for so long, she finally looked at him.  
  
"I think so."  
  
Filia frowned, growing worried. "Try to curl your toes," she instructed, looking to his feet.  
  
They moved slightly, but not enough to suit her. "A little more."  
  
"What do you mean?" he demanded irritably. "I'm curling them."  
  
Filia sighed and sat back against the bed.  
  
"Don't tell me I'm paralyzed," he growled. "You stupid dragon! You should have just let me die!"  
  
It was too much for her frayed, tired nerves. She was hurting too! Yes, she felt horrible for what he had suffered, but she was trying. He didn't _have_ to make her into a whipping post. "Maybe I should have!" she snapped back, unsuccessful in her fatigue to keep the hot tears which formed from falling. "How much more penance do you expect from me for something that happened before I was ever born?" She tried to glare at him, but lacked the energy.  
  
"Nothing you will ever do will change what happened."  
  
"No," she agreed weakly, and reached up, listlessly brushing her fingers over her cheek, wiping at the salty wetness in a futile gesture. The tears wouldn't stop spilling out of her eyes, although no sobs gripped her chest. "I suppose not."  
  
"Why're you doing this?"  
  
Filia remained quiet, contemplating her answer. "Because I don't want to be like them. I don't want to turn my back and leave someone to die. It's _over_, Valgaav." Her voice choked and strained against the emotion, and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "All of it. They're dead, and you know what?" She looked at him then. He was silent, looking at her, eyes narrowed. "I hate them too. I love them, but I also hate them. I hate them for what they did. It was wrong, and I know it. I know _nothing_ will ever bring your people back. I know nothing will _ever_ make up for it. I hate them for their lies. And I don't want to hate. We're the last of our kind because of that hate."  
  
She closed her eyes, laying her head back against the side of the bed, surrendering in the battle against the tears. "I'm better than that. I won't live out their legacy for them. I'll make my own."  
  
Nothing more was said then. The minutes kept count of the silence as they ticked by, and Filia was the first to break it.  
  
"Besides," she told him wearily, "you're still able to move your toes. That's a good sign. Your back's very likely injured from the fall, but I don't think it's permanent."  
  
Valgaav was the next one to break the silence. "Get me water," he ordered. "I'm thirsty."  
  
Her breath shuddered as she sucked in a deep lungful of air, and nodded. Reaching up, she used her sleeve to wipe the tears off her face and stood, not looking at him. "I'll have to go fetch some fresh water. I'll be right back." Grabbing the pitcher, she stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.  
  
As soon as she was relatively alone, Filia's expression crumpled against her will, and a low, wailing moan escaped her lips. Leaning back against the door, she pressed her free hand against her mouth, choking down exhausted sobs.  
  
To Filia, at that moment, it felt as though she might shatter into millions of pieces if she moved. How she was holding on, she couldn't tell. The pain in her chest was blinding, suffocating, and it felt so completely hopeless.  
  
Endless.  
  
She could deal with pain, loss, grief, heartache. All of those were just very much a part of living, and came hand in hand with the better parts.  
  
But she didn't know if she could cope with the sensation of endlessness, the feeling that the pain which stretched out before her would last for an eternity, with no respite. She couldn't deal with the utter hopelessness.  
  
Why hadn't anyone killed her too? Was this her punishment, forced to live with the burdens of the sins of her fathers? Smothering down a soft wail, the concept of death seemed to be more of a release than a punishment.  
  
Water splashed on her feet from the pitcher, held loosely in her other hand, and that brought her back to the present. No, she wouldn't think such thoughts. She couldn't. Valgaav still needed her, whether or not he liked it. As long as she was needed, she wouldn't shirk her responsibilities. Filia wouldn't allow herself to leave under that cloud of dishonor.  
  
Suddenly, the realization dawned on her that Valgaav had to know what it felt like. Did he know the hopelessness? The endlessness of the pain too? The anguish so intense it was crushing in its weight, making each breath a struggle to breathe?  
  
The hurt and weary anger faded away into sympathy. How alone he must feel. Silently, she breathed a prayer of gratitude for what she felt. If it would make her more sympathetic, more understanding, if it would enable her to be of better aid to others, then it was a gift, not a burden. In the prayer, she apologized for her thoughts of suicide, and offered up thanks for the anguish that still ripped at her heart. In his shoes, she would be more capable now of understanding his needs.  
  
Breathing unsteadily, she rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve again, bringing herself back under control before heading downstairs.  
  


* * *

  
"I know nothing will _ever_ make up for it. I hate them for their lies. And I don't want to hate. We're the last of our kind because of that hate."  
  
Valgaav stayed silent, watching her, observing the tears that spilled out of her blue eyes. He tried to tell himself that she was lying, that she was just being an overly-pious, typical Golden, but the thoughts rang hollow.  
  
Filia closed her eyes, laying her head back against the side of the bed. She no longer seemed to bother with trying to wipe away her tears. "I'm better than that." Her voice was a hushed, tremulous whisper, but he could hear the core of strength behind the words. "I won't live out their legacy for them. I'll make my own."  
  
He didn't care. If he kept telling himself that, maybe he'd believe it. It was just words, pretty packages with no substance. Valgaav had given up on the need for words long ago. Anyone could say whatever they pleased. It was always their actions that spoke the truth when everything was said and done. She could talk until she was blue in the face, but it was nothing but empty words in the end.  
  
"Besides, you're still able to move your toes," she said, drawing his attention back to his physical state. Her soft voice lacked any strength or sign of life. Just a bone-deep exhaustion that he could hear. "That's a good sign. Your back's very likely injured from the fall, but I don't think it's permanent."  
  
He had driven the sword of words in deep, and he knew it. Yet, she was still taking his condition into consideration? Valgaav narrowed his eyes. The priestess was up to something, she had to be.  
  
That compassion she insisted on showing couldn't be real. He couldn't believe in it. Ever since her people had slaughtered his, not a single soul alive in the past millennia had shown him compassion, not really. What Gaav had done was for his own purposes and cause, as selfish as they might have been. His master had been good to him, and understood the nightmares that had haunted him before his body had come to realize that Mazoku did not require sleep. Gaav had earned his trust and his loyalty, but compassion wasn't part of the late Demon Dragon King's vocabulary.  
  
And how ironic was it that a member of the very race ultimately responsible for every bit of pain in his life would be the one to show him the compassion he could no longer recall ever receiving?  
  
He wouldn't feel sorry for her. Let her work herself to the bone. She owed him that much. The release of death had been within his grasp, and she stole that from him, just as her people had left him to die slowly, mocking him in their laughter.  
  
She was just another stupid, vicious Golden, and...damnit. He had to find a way to get himself to believe that.  
  
She wasn't worth his thoughts anymore. Ignoring her, he turned his attention to his physical condition, and realized he was desperately thirsty. Looking over to Filia, he snapped at her to fetch him some water.  
  
It was only after the surprise smacked into him as she nodded to him, pulling herself to her feet with evident weariness, did he realize he expected her to tell him to go to hell or get it himself. But she _still_ brought aid to him without complaint, without consideration for her own pain, in spite of everything.  
  
He was successful in fighting off the guilt -- until his ears picked up a soft wail from the other side of the closed door. Looking down to the gap at the threshold, he could make out her feet.  
  
Although they were clearly being muffled, he could still make out her wearied sobbing. Valgaav hurried to mentally recount all the reasons why he should hate her, why he should make her existence as miserable and pathetic as possible, and the end result only left him feeling worse.  
  
Maybe, just maybe, he _had_ been a bit too unnecessarily harsh on her. Just maybe, his words might have been a bit uncalled for.  
  
And just maybe, he should at least attempt to apologize when she returned, or, failing that, be just a little more tolerant.  
  


* * *

  
Filia stepped back into the room, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her as she carried the pitcher to the table and poured him a glass. Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked to him, kneeling by his side and setting the glass on the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," she said quietly, carefully raising his head, resting it on her lap to help him sit up a little more while trying to minimize strain on his back. "It was uncalled for."  
  
His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and he scowled. "You're a fool," he muttered harshly, and she held her breath, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. Concentrating on her task, she picked up the glass, holding it to his lips.  
  
"Drink," Filia said softly, careful not to meet his eyes.  
  
He continued looking at her for a few moments before making a decidedly exasperated sound. She carefully tilted the glass, taking the utmost caution not to spill any, and he brought his hand up, wrapping it lightly over hers to help guide her.  
  
Finally, he pushed her hand away, relaxing. Filia set the glass down and started to move out from under him when he stopped her.  
  
"What I meant was, it should me be saying that."  
  
Filia blinked. "What was that?"  
  
He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm...sorry," he muttered.  
  
Her heart throbbed with a deep ache, but it was different from before. The sensation now was that it was too full to properly contain everything she felt, and it forced hot tears back into her eyes. "Oh, Valgaav," she whispered, stroking his hair lightly, "you had every right, if what I feel today is how you felt all these years."  
  
Valgaav pushed her hand away, closing his eyes, wincing a bit as he drew in a deep breath. "Knock it off," he muttered. "You're a dragon. The kicked puppy act doesn't suit you."  
  
Filia closed her eyes tightly, but nodded.   
  
"Past is past, I guess," he continued. "If you're serious about trying to make up for it, then the least you can do it quit the self-flagellation routine. We're survivors, the three of us, whether or not we want to be. If you're serious about not being like them, then quit living in the past." He paused for a moment. "I'm sick of it."  
  
"All right," she whispered. "I'm sor--"  
  
"Shut up, Filia," he said, cutting her off. But his tone lacked harshness, taking the sting out of the words.  
  
She didn't know what to say then, so she merely nodded. With meticulous care, she raised his head again and eased it back down onto the pillows. "Your strength has improved," Filia told him. "I'm going to try casting a recovery spell now."  
  
He didn't reply, except in way of a facial shrug as he closed his eyes.  
  
Filia held her hand over him, concentrating on the spell. "Oh, blessed and humble hand of God, life and breath of Mother Earth, come before me and show your great compassion and deliver us. Recovery!" Gradually, she moved her hands away as she felt the spell take a foothold in him and begin to work on repairing the wounds.  
  
"Go lay down," he told her then. "I'll be fine for a while. If your eyes and voice are any indication, you're still about to topple over again, and I'd rather not have you fall on me." Filia sighed and nodded, getting to her feet again, knowing he was right as her body kept protesting against anything she forced it to do.  
  
"I'm not cold anymore. Take a couple of the blankets for yourself."  
  
Filia managed a small, but sad smile as she looked at him. "Thank you," she whispered. "Are you sure you'll be all right if I fall asleep?"  
  
"I'll figure out a way to wake you if I have to."  
  
"Maybe I shouldn't..."  
  
Valgaav closed his eyes, growling in annoyance. "Stubborn child. Let's see if you can follow me here. How in the hell do you propose to take care of me if you can't even take proper care of yourself? Now sleep, before I knock you out myself."  
  
Filia sighed in defeat and nodded, taking her cloak back to wrap herself in. He pushed off the top blanket.  
  
"Take this. I don't need it."  
  
Sitting on the bed, she removed her shoes and bunched up her cloak to use for a pillow. Hesitating a moment, she studied Valgaav, who kept watching her.  
  
"What?"  
  
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she was glad he survived.  
  
Instead, she only shook her head. "Nothing," she said softly. If she told him that, he would probably snap at her again. Covering herself with the blanket, she lay down on the bed. "I'll try not to sleep too long."  
  
It was only in those few moments just before she slipped off into unconsciousness did she realize he'd begun calling her by name.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	4. Chapter Four

**Note to Readers:** Thanks again for your support, everybody! Feedback's quite delicious. ^_~ Also, I'm establishing Valgaav's age at the time of the massacre based off two things: His apparent age in the desert when Gaav first appeared to him, and his apparent age in TRY. Mazoku do not age, so to my way of seeing it, Val Agares was 'frozen' at his current age when Gaav changed him into Valgaav, much in the way a human is 'frozen' at their current age, appearance-wise, when they are embraced into Vampirism. Both, in a manner of speaking, are forms of unlife, as to achieve them, you need to die in your current life first.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Four

  
  
"Val, for the last time, you're going to be late!"  
  
As his mother's voice drifted up the stairs, Val Agares made a face at the door. "I said I'd down in a few minutes!" he hollered back. Looking back to the reflective piece of metal on the wall, studying his reflection. He'd finally decided on his dark blue cloak after several long minutes of debating back and forth between that and the green. Frowning into the mirror, he studied his hair, reaching up and experimenting several times between pulling his long red-auburn locks back, or leaving them loose.  
  
The door creaked open and he glanced over his shoulder, seeing a younger boy poke his head in.  
  
"I don't know why you bother trying to figure out that part," the child said, smirking at him. "You're just gonna get it all messed up later." To emphasize his point, the boy stepped in and closed his eyes, pretending to wrap his arms around something and puckering up his lips.  
  
Smirking in a mixture of annoyance and amusement, Val picked up a pillow off his bed and threw it at his younger brother, hitting him lightly in the face. "Get outta here, you brat."  
  
His brother pretended to fall over backwards into the hall, howling in mock-pain. "You hit me! Abuse! Abuse! I'm dying!"  
  
"Knock it off, Jatlini!" their mother yelled up the stairs.  
  
Deciding to leave his hair alone, Val stepped out into the hall and scooped up his younger brother, grabbing and holding his legs to his chest, carrying him downstairs upside down.  
  
Jatlini squealed, his arms flailing uselessly. "Val! You jerk! Put me down!"  
  
"Certainly," Val replied, and cautiously pretended to drop him on his head on one of the steps, causing him to yelp again.  
  
"Not like that!"  
  
Their mother leaned in the kitchen doorway, looking at them in dismay as she shook her head. "What am I going to do with you two?" she asked, exasperated.  
  
"Lock up Val, throw away the key, and buy me that bow and arrow set I want?" Jatlini asked hopefully.  
  
Val responded to that by spinning in a quick circle, still holding his brother upside down, causing him to scream.  
  
"Val, put him down, now," his mother said. "If he gets sick, you're staying home to take care of him. And Jat, we told you, not until you're two hundred fifty."  
  
"But, Mother!" Jatlini whined as Val righted him, setting him on his feet.  
  
"No buts. Your father and I said when you're two-fifty, and not a day sooner. That's final." She looked to Val. "Are you going to see Caitarina today?"  
  
He nodded. "She'll be getting off work soon. I'm going to go by the hatchery and meet her outside."  
  
"All right. If you see Jyoti, tell her I'll coming by later tonight to sit with the egg. I've still got some errands I need to run for your father's birthday tomorrow."  
  
"Will you _please_ tell me what we're getting him?" Jatlini begged.  
  
"No way, whelp," Val said, ruffling his hair. "You hold secrets about as well as a sieve holds water." Looking back to his mother, he nodded. "I'll pass on the message. It's about--"  
  
A sudden, loud roar overhead, closely followed by an intense rushing sound ending in an explosion cut him off. They all froze, and Val and his mother stared at each other before they ran to the windows, looking out.  
  
"Mother?" Jatlini said quietly, coming up behind them and clinging to her.  
  
Val stared out the window, unable to process what he was seeing. "What are they doing?" he demanded, his eyes widening as a group of Goldens flying in formation swooped low, a trail of fire from their mouths cutting through the city which surrounded the temple.  
  
She didn't answer, and he looked over to her quickly. She was shaking her head slowly, and starting to back away from the window. Then, the dwelling across the street exploded into searing flames, sending all of them flying back.  
  
Jatlini was screaming now, clutching to his mother in terror. A high-pitch whistle shrieked through the air as another Golden made a pass overhead. Somewhere nearby, they could hear the liquid-sounding whoosh as it spit a torrent of fire energy.  
  
His mother got to her feet, still holding her youngest hatchling, and growled dangerously. "Take Jat, get down below, both of you!"  
  
"Mother, what are you going to do?" Val asked as she lifted Jat, shoving the younger dragonchild into his arms.  
  
"There's no time to argue, now get below now!" she shouted, running for the doorway and looking out.  
  
"Let me go with you!" Val called after her.  
  
"No! Stay here and protect Jatlini! I'm going to try to find your father!"  
  
"MOMMA!" Jatlini struggled and kicked at Val, trying to squirm free as he obeyed their mother's orders, moving down into the cellar. "Let me go! She can't leave us!"  
  
"Jat, shut up!" Val struggled to hold onto him with one arm as he lowered the heavy cellar door over them, climbing down the staircase.  
  
His younger brother went into a frenzy then, screaming and pummeling at him, calling him all the worst names his one hundred seventeen year old mind could think up. Ignoring him, Val just held onto him tightly, closing his eyes and listening in disbelief to the sounds overhead. He felt numb and detached, trying to comprehend what was happening. He had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation. It was just a nightmare.  
  
A thundering roar echoed overhead, causing the very air around them to tremble. Jatlini quit struggling, clinging to Val tightly as objects rattled off the shelves around them, crashing to the floor. The air became unbearable in the rapidly increasing heat, and he could see the orange glow of cinders explode between the cracks of the cellar trapdoor.  
  
When burning wood started to rain around them, Val knew they couldn't stay there any longer. He gave his younger brother a shake. "C'mon, let go. Transform," he told him, shouting over the crackling of fire and the screaming and roars above.  
  
Jatlini didn't budge, clinging to him tightly and whimpering, then screamed when a support beam from the ceiling crashed by them ablaze. Val growled, prying Jatlini's arms loose and held the terrified dragonling at an arms' length, quickly transforming into his dragon body, ducking his head and folding his wings tightly around himself. Pulling Jatlini close, he shielded his younger brother with his own body as he crashed upward through the burning ceiling, ignoring the pain of the searing heat as it hit his wings, burning at some of the feathers, beating them harder to take flight.  
  
What he saw chilled his blood.  
  
The streets below were lined with flaming debris, and the bodies of other Ancient dragons; males, females, and children alike. Some were in dragon form, countless others were still in their humanoid bodies, quite possibly dead before they knew what hit them. The air all around him was thick with smoke and battle roars as the Ancients began to respond, falling into some semblance of formation to battle the attacking Goldens.  
  
One of them came diving at him, and Val froze for a heartbeat before diving sharply, his forelimbs raked by the rubble of a house as he held Jatlini to him. With a powerful downward thrust of his wings, he shot upward, trying to evade the much larger Golden that was following in close pursuit. Glancing back, he saw a brilliant glow begin to form in the Golden's mouth, and he tucked his right wing to his body tightly, making a sharp turn to evade the energy blast that vaporized everything in its path where he had been only a moment before.  
  
An enraged roar thundered down from above, and he looked up to see his father diving at the Golden, the older Ancient dragon being more equal in size to the attacker. Hesitating, beating his wings frantically in midair to remain aloft, he twisted his neck to watch the fight.  
  
"Get out of here, Val! Go!" his father roared, striking out at the Golden's face with his claws as he clamped his jaws around the attacking dragon's wing, tearing it.  
  
Val looked around, at a loss for where to fall back, then through the dense clouds of smoke, he spotted the temple. Caitarina. She would probably still be at the hatchery where she worked, warming and guarding the eggs while their mothers took care of the rest of their families. Males weren't allowed in the inner recesses of the hatchery, but Val didn't care about rules. The hatchery was well-fortified, Jatlini would be safe there, and he could help defend the unhatched dragonlings, as well as protect the object of his affection.  
  
A scream caused him to look back as he wheeled about, setting course for the temple, and he froze. Another Golden had flown up behind his father, impaling him on a massive halberd, and pulled the blade loose by swinging the staff, throwing him off it and into one of the infernos on the ground.  
  


* * *

  
The sound of someone thrashing, accompanied by a groan of pain and an incoherent shout jerked Filia out from under the layers of sleep, her hand automatically going to her mace on reflex. The angle of the light outside the window showed it to be late afternoon, and on the floor beside her, Valgaav was asleep, moving fitfully.  
  
He murmured in his sleep but she couldn't make out the words. His hands spasmodically tightening on the blankets, then flailing a bit, his arms stiff. A sheen of sweat covered his face, and he was breathing unsteadily, panting, as though he had run a long distance.  
  
Cautiously, she knelt beside him. "Valgaav?" she said, raising her voice a bit. "Valgaav, wake up!"  
  
He twitched, snarling softly, but didn't emerge from sleep. Hesitating a bit, Filia reached out and touched his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "You're dreaming, wake--"  
  
She shrieked in surprise as his hand shot up, gripping the side of her neck where it met the base of her skull so tightly, stars flashed in her vision. Before Filia could react, a sharp pain shot through her body as he threw her over him, and as soon as she collided with the wall, her vision went black.  
  


* * *

  
His heart thudded painfully against his sternum, and the first thought that sifted through the bloodied haze of nightmares left him realizing in a very detached sort of way that he was alive again, not a Mazoku. He couldn't feel any of his limbs, but he could feel the blood rushing through his veins as his heart pounded, and his throat was dry from breathing as though he'd run a thousand miles. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Valgaav tried to banish the lingering images in his mind.  
  
They were so fresh, so close, real enough to touch. He almost thought he could smell the smoke, laced with the hideous odor of charring flesh. Distant screams and roars echoed in his ears over his own pulse, and he swallowed hard, trying to bring the emotions flooding him under control before they made their way to his eyes to escape in the form of tears. He could feel their hot pressure building under his closed lids, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to prevent their escape.  
  
Once Valgaav was certain they were under control, he cautiously opened his eyes again, and much more recent memories began to settle into place. His own breathing felt raw against his throat, and he craved a glass of water, as much for the liquid as for something to do to keep himself from slipping back into that nightmarish dreamland.  
  
Turning his head, wincing a bit at the motion, he looked over to the bed, contemplating how to wake up his nursemaid. It was empty, however, and he spat out a few choice words, _sotto voce_, as he closed his eyes. Great time for her to be off running about.  
  
What did he need her for, anyway? He wasn't a completely helpless invalid. So it hurt to move. So what? It wasn't like he and pain were strangers anyway. Opening his eyes again, he wondered where she hid that pitcher of water.  
  
That was when he noticed her shoes still by the bed. Maybe she was off walking around barefooted, but it seemed to be an odd thing for her to do, from what little he did know. Turning his head again, looking for the water pitcher, he found her.  
  
Valgaav scowled at the sight of her laying down by the wall, her feet a few inches from his side. What the hell was she doing over there? From the angle, it looked as though she perhaps tripped. Damned Golden. Or maybe she'd lied about resting, and had gotten up after he'd drifted off, and finally collapsed from exhaustion. That sounded much more likely. The way she protested against sleeping when she clearly needed it... well, she was still the smartest Golden he'd ever met, which wasn't saying much.  
  
"Hey!" he called, his voice a hoarse croak. "Get up. I need water." When she didn't move, he reached out and roughly shook her foot. "Hey, you, Golden! You're so eager to help me out here, the least you could do is get me some water!"  
  
She stirred a bit, but didn't acknowledge him otherwise. Stupid dragon. She must have fallen asleep. Trying to fight down a groan of pain, he reached out and grabbed the skirt of her dress, giving it a sharp tug to try and rouse her. She was so deeply asleep even that didn't do the trick, and he relaxed onto his makeshift bed with an irritated sigh.  
  
That was when he noticed the red smudge on the wall trailing downward above her head. Valgaav frowned, looking back to Filia again. Great. She'd gone and knocked herself out. He pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, then hissed sharply at the pain so intense it made him nauseous.  
  
After it abated enough to allow him to breathe again, he carefully shifted position so he could reach out and grab her arm, dragging her across the floor closer to him. Her eyes fluttered open slightly, unfocused and dazed, and her head lolled to the side, causing her to gasp in pain. Blood trickled down the side of her head where she had struck it against the wall, and when she blinked at him slowly in a disoriented way, Valgaav reached up to pat her cheek to rouse her.  
  
That was when he noticed the faint bruises starting to form on the upper part of her neck, disappearing into her hair, in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of fingerprints. Eyes widening, he temporarily forgot his own injuries, leaning a bit closer to study them. As his fingers touched the area, she whimpered softly, her eyes closing.  
  
A sick, sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach, and Valgaav turned his head slowly, hoping what he'd see would deny the horrid suspicions starting to form. He glanced to the bed, and then to where her head had struck the wall. His eyes traced the line between the two points, and the likelihood grew, he inwardly shrunk in proportion until he was about two inches tall.  
  
"Filia, oh, gods, I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking back to her. Guilt tore at him as he looked to the bruises again. Grabbing one of the blankets covering him, Valgaav tugged the corner up to wipe the blood away from where the skin on her forehead had split upon impact.  
  
Remorse was not an emotion with which he was accustomed, but while he had no qualms about causing deliberate injury upon someone, it was different, somehow, when it was wholly unintentional. He _had_ been dreaming about, wishing to, bringing harm to Goldens. But... not this one. It was easier, and safer for him, to be rude to her, but to actually injure her? That wasn't really something she deserved, especially not after all she'd done for him.  
  
Filia stirred some more, frowning as she closed her eyes with a soft groan, bringing a shaky hand up to touch her head. The lump of guilt in his throat made it difficult to speak.  
  
"Filia, open your eyes. Are you okay? Answer me."  
  
Her eyes fluttered open, and she had to blink them several times before they began to focus on his. "What happened?" she mumbled.  
  
He bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I...I was dreaming, and I must have reacted through that. You must have tried to wake me. I hurt you."  
  
It only grew worse when she closed her eyes, patting his hand. "S'okay," she murmured. Filia opened them again, looking at him, and he saw a light come on in the blue depths. "Valgaav, you shouldn't be sitting up. You might hurt your back more."  
  
He winced at that. "You're doing that on purpose," he snapped, his tone harsher than he intended as she forced herself into a sitting position, causing her to blink.  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"You're hurt! It's my fault you're hurt, and you're still trying to take care of me! Knock it off."  
  
Filia frowned, reaching out to touch his face. He tried to jerk away, but the twinge of pain that went through his back at the first attempt to do so left him breathless, so he just remained still. "You didn't mean to," she told him, "so why should I be upset? It was an accident. You're hurting yourself more." She carefully shifted to her knees, swaying a bit, then gripped his shoulders, helping him ease back down onto the bed.  
  
Valgaav closed his eyes, laying down without further protest. It felt like his entire body was throbbing in pain. A knock at the door drew his attention. "Onnesan?" It was Jillas. Valgaav's heart sunk even further. He wondered if Jillas' loyalty would extend far enough to cover what he did to the dragon at his side, whom Jillas had apparently adopted as family, if the affectionate term of 'big sis' was any indication.  
  
Filia sighed. "It's open, Jillas, and please, my name is not oneesan."  
  
"It is to me," he retorted cheerfully as he opened the door. "It's been a good..." The fox-man trailed off, his eyes widening. "Oneesan! What happened?" He quickly shut the door behind him as he rushed over.  
  
"Just an acute case of miscommunication," Filia replied, giving him a wry smile.  
  
Valgaav wanted to throttle her then. Why wasn't she screaming at him, throwing him out in the street to fend for himself after what he did? After all, he couldn't see himself not doing that if he were in her shoes.  
  
"Oneesan, don't tell me I have two patients now."  
  
She gave his arm a light swat. "I'll be fine, given a few hours and some hot cloths."  
  
"Do you want me to get that for you now?" Jillas asked.  
  
She gave him a pleading look, making her blue eyes appear even bigger, and Jillas just melted. "Some towels, some boiling-hot water, and a pitcher of fresh water?" she asked.  
  
"Right away, oneesan. Do you want me to get supper too?"  
  
"Unless either of you are hungry, I can wait for a bit," Filia said, and glanced to Valgaav. He closed his eyes and shook his head, his stomach still feeling a bit unsettled from pain.  
  
"Then I'll be right back with the water, oneesan."  
  
"All right. And Jillas?"  
  
"Yes, oneesan?"  
  
"Stop calling me oneesan!"  
  
"But that's who you are to me, oneesan," Jillas replied, undaunted, and Valgaav thought he gave her a wink as he slipped out the door, but it was hard to tell what with Jillas only having the one eye.  
  
Filia sighed, then gave Valgaav a weary smile. "He's actually been very helpful. I don't know what I would have done without all his assistance."  
  
"Yes. Jillas has always been quite loyal." He paused. "No word from Gravos?"  
  
"Grav...? Oh." She frowned, thinking. "No, not since..." She trailed off as if unsure of how to continue.  
  
"He was a good servant too," Valgaav said quietly. They were silent for several minutes. "So, what's our plan, or do we even have one yet?"  
  
"Well, I'm going to see about purchasing a dwelling here, if Jillas' reports on the city prove satisfactory. After that, I'm not sure. I thought about opening a pottery shop. I learned how to make things as a child, and I'm quite good at that. It would provide a source of income, at least." Filia looked at him. "Of course, both of you are welcome to stay with me, if you wish." Her eyes dropped to her lap as her voice softened. "I rather hope you do. It will be lonely otherwise."  
  
"I'll think about it," Valgaav replied, while wondering where else he'd go. It wasn't as if there was any real home to go to. He considered his cave, and while it was suitable when he was Mazoku, his body would require more than the cave could provide, especially if his ability to teleport was also gone. He wanted to return to it though, if only to recover what few things he possessed.  
  
"What were you dreaming about?" she asked suddenly, looking at him.  
  
Valgaav closed his eyes. "The massacre."  
  
"I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, tiny.  
  
He looked up at her then. "Don't, Filia. Your people did it, but not you. You've done your penance, far as I'm concerned. It's over."  
  
She gave him a small, soft smile. He closed his eyes, unable to smile back, unable to forget about the mark on her head, or the bruises on her neck, and instead chose to reply by giving her hand a light squeeze.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	5. Chapter Five

**Note to Readers:** Note: To those of you feeling sorry for poor Valgaav, in the immortal words of Bette Davis, _Fasten your seat belts. It's gonna be a bumpy night_. ^_~ Just hold onto the little truth that I believe in happily ever afters when all's said and done. And to 'Anonymous', I'm going to leave the question of whether this story arc will be pro F/X or pro F/V up in the air, since that's a spoiler, not just for this, but the sequel that's nagging me. ^_^  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Five

  
  
"This is absolutely beyond the realms of humiliating."  
  
"Oh, quit fussing," Filia said as she carefully lowered Valgaav into the chair before tapering off the levitation spell. "It's either this, or we could just carry you on a plank."  
  
"Besides, Lord Valgaav, it's night. There's not very many people out now, and we'll stick to the shadows," Jillas added.  
  
"I can walk," he said gruffly.  
  
"A few steps," Filia countered, glancing up at the inn window, mentally reviewing everything to see if she'd forgotten to do anything before they left the rooms they'd resided in for the past week.  
  
"Across the room!"  
  
"Using the shortest point to point measurement, perhaps."  
  
He huffed in annoyance.  
  
"But you'll be able to get around by yourself once we get to the cottage," Jillas said, patting the wheels he'd attached to the chair.  
  
"I'm thrilled." His tone was anything but.  
  
"Oh, quit being a baby," Filia told him, which earned her a rather evil glare, to which she responded with a sweet smile. "The cottage is a good thirty minute walk from here. If you tried to get there on your own, you'll probably be wishing for this in five." She turned to Jillas. "You two get started. I'm going to go back up and make sure we have everything, then settle our bill with the innkeeper."  
  
"Okay, oneesan."  
  
"Jillas?"  
  
"Yes, oneesan?"  
  
"STOP CALLING ME ONEESAN!"  
  
"Sure thing, oneesan." He grinned at her. Filia whimpered.  
  
"Give it up," Valgaav replied, smirking at her. "If I have to put up with this chair with wheels, you can handle being called his big sis. I can think of other things to call you, if you'd like."  
  
"No, that's quite all right," she said hurriedly, and beat a hasty retreat. "Levitation!" Hovering up, she gripped the windowframe and pulled herself in, dropping to her feet. After checking both her room and Jillas' to ensure nothing was left behind, she paid off whatever was left of their accumulated debt, and stepped out into the quiet, dark street.  
  
It was still early enough that the warmth from the day hadn't yet leeched out of the air, but still, Filia looked forward to starting a warm fire in her new home. Jillas had gone with her when she had ventured out to try to sell her jewelry, partially to be her guide as he had already explored the neighborhood by then, and partially to protect her, as she had still been quite stiff and sore from being thrown against the wall.  
  
Giving her head a small shake, she sighed. In some ways, she missed the kinder, gentler way Valgaav had treated her for the first few days afterwards, but she was glad that he was getting over his guilt. It had been an accident, and she knew it. There was no permanent damage, so no harm was really done, in her eyes.  
  
At least the sting was gone from many of his words. Valgaav was once again quite rude and brusque, but for the most part as far as she could tell, he wasn't being deliberately vindictive anymore. He still had his moments when he was extraordinarily snippy, but Filia just reminded herself to be patient, that he had a thousand years of pain to contend with. He had every right to his moments of harshness.  
  
She hoped the situation would continue to improve once they weren't in each other's faces around the clock. The cottage really only boasted one bedroom, but they could still make do. There was a rather spacious attic that Jillas had lay claim to for his own quarters, and Filia decided to let Valgaav have the bedroom. Besides, she longed to be able to sleep near the external warmth of a fire again, which made occupying the living room a logical choice.  
  
Once again, she owed Jillas, for it was him who had found the cozy, well-kept building, being sold by a widow who was moving away to another town to live with her son and daughter-in-law. Not only had he managed to help her get a rather tidy sum for her headdress, bracelets, and a few necklaces and rings, but he acquired the cottage at a good bargain. Not only did they have a house now, but it was, for the most part, still furnished, as the previous owner had no need to take anything beyond her own personal effects.  
  
They had spent the day buying the things they did need; bedding, dishes, food, a few lamps, oil, and other such supplies. Jillas also checked out the price of lumber, as they planned to convert the front parlor of the cottage into a shop, with a separate entrance. Filia wondered where they would get the money to afford building the necessary kiln, and later, a forge to craft weapons with as well, but Jillas told her not to worry about it. There was no shortage of work for someone with his ingenuity, and he said that would go toward laying the groundwork to opening the shop. The money remaining from her jewelry could be reserved for necessary things like food.  
  
Cutting across a street, she picked up her steps to catch up with Jillas and Valgaav. Although they had a head start, she didn't think they'd be moving as fast as she, since she had cautioned Jillas not to push the chair too fast, and to be mindful of potentially jarring bumps which could aggravate Valgaav's injuries. He had made tremendous progress, thanks to the healing spells, but she knew it had been a very close call. If it wasn't for casting not one but three resurrection spells altogether, Filia doubted he would have made it. It was a miracle in itself he had even survived as long as he did.  
  
Rounding a corner, she caught sight of the two men further ahead as they passed through the yellow glow pouring out of tavern windows. Gathering her skirt in her hands, she picked up her steps to a jog, slowing to a halt as she approached, both of them turning to watch her as her footsteps reached them.  
  
"It took you long enough," Valgaav snapped, looking her over. "What happened, you get lost?"  
  
"No one tried to bother you, did they, oneesan?" Jillas asked. "We shouldn't have left you to walk by yourself after dark." His ears drooped a bit as he studied her.  
  
Filia smiled at them. "No, I'm sorry if I worried you. It took a little longer than I thought it would with the innkeeper, and apparently you two made better time." She flashed them a grin. "Besides, anyone who did try to accost me would become very well acquainted with my mace." She patted her thigh where it was strapped, hidden under her skirt.  
  
They continued on toward the cottage, and Filia looked up at the sky, marveling at the stars which looked like gems scattered over deep blue velvet. It was a gorgeous sight for a dragon, and she daydreamed of when she'd be able to afford building up her hoard again. It had been painful to part with her pretty, shiny things, but it was necessary.  
  
So entranced was she with the sight that Filia failed to notice the pothole in the road, and landed in a rather ungraceful heap on the ground with a startled yelp. Jillas rushed to her side, helping her up, while Valgaav merely applauded in a slow, sarcastic manner.  
  
"Have a nice trip?" he asked, his tone deceptively pleasant. Filia just smirked at him in reply as she got to her feet, brushing off the dust.  
  
"You're not hurt, are you, oneesan?" Jillas asked worriedly.  
  
"I'm okay. Just bruised my pride, I think," she replied wryly, then looked around. "Are we almost there?"  
  
"It's just around that corner and down a ways."  
  
When they reached the cottage, Filia levitated Valgaav's chair up the few steps to the doorway while Jillas opened it, stepping aside as she pushed the chair in over the threshold. It felt incredibly dark, until Valgaav raised his hand, forming a hovering ball of light.  
  
Jillas tended to starting a fire while Filia lit the oil lamps, and soon, her new home took on a welcoming glow. Valgaav allowed the ball of light to dissipate, lowering his hand as he looked around, reaching for the wheels to push himself further into the room.  
  
"So this is what you got with your trinkets," he remarked. From his tone, Filia decided that his comment was as good as a word of approval.  
  
"Thank you," she replied, pulling her cloak off and draping it over a chair. She carefully placed the large blue gem which had clasped it shut in a cabinet, for it was more than a mere decoration; it was her way of accessing her dragon body. "Jillas deserves the credit, though. It was he who found the place and sealed the sale."  
  
The fox-man positively glowed in pleasure at the praise.  
  
"How are you two feeling?" she asked.  
  
"I'm a bit hungry," Valgaav admitted.  
  
Filia hopped a little in excitement and hurried into the kitchen, carrying a lamp with her. "My first time cooking in my new home!"  
  
"You are far too easily amused by these things," Valgaav said, pushing himself after her. But he smirked when he said it.  
  
Filia grinned. "Jillas, could you start a fire in here too, please?"  
  
"With pleasure, oneesan."  
  
"Jillas, my name isn't oneesan!"  
  
"Whatever you say, oneesan." He shot her a grin, crouching down by the fireplace in the kitchen to start arranging the logs.  
  
With a laugh that was somewhere between exasperation and amusement, she started looking over the food she had purchased earlier that day in preparation for the move. "I guess I am excited," she told Valgaav as she opened the larder door. "I've never had a place of my very own before. What would you like to eat?"  
  
He considered that for a moment. "Food?" he asked, a slightly bored tone to his voice.  
  
Filia looked away from the jars on the shelves, peering at him. "No, _really_?" she asked after a moment, shooting him a look of mock astonishment. "I thought maybe some wood between two slices of sheet rock with a bit of red mud on the side would be sufficient."  
  
For a moment, it almost looked like he was going to crack a smile. "I certainly hope you're better at cooking than you are at walking."  
  
"Oh, hush." Looking over what she had on hand, and taking the time into consideration, she pulled out a large pot. "I think some stew will do us for tonight. Jillas, where's the pump again?"  
  
"Out back, oneesan. Want me to fetch the water?"  
  
"I can manage that. Could you start preparing some of the vegetables?" she asked, picking up the pot and a bucket.  
  
"Okay! Lord Valgaav, you can help me! Here, you do the onions."  
  
Filia ducked her head, biting her lip to hold back a laugh, envisioning Valgaav's reaction if he took up Jillas' offer as she stepped out the back door of the kitchen. Valgaav's deadpan tone followed her, evoking a grin.  
  
"I don't think so, Jillas. Give me those potatoes. _You_ can do the onions."  
  


* * *

  
The next few weeks flew by as the three of them settled into a comfortable routine. Jillas had taught Filia and Valgaav how to measure things and cut the wooden planks so they could set up the groundwork for him to build the shop in the evenings. When they weren't doing that, Filia was cooking or cleaning, usually with Valgaav tagging along and offering 'helpful' advice. As exasperating as it could get, she welcomed the company, especially as he seemed to come to accept her.  
  
His physical condition was improving steadily, and he was able to remain mobile and on his feet each day for a little longer than he had the day before. Filia still kept a sharp eye on Valgaav, and was quick to get after him when she felt he was exerting himself too much. It always resulted in arguments, with the degree of acridity varying on his mood at any given moment.  
  
But there were times when he had her genuinely frightened. Every now and then, it seemed she would catch him staring off into space, as if closeted away in his own little world. Filia learned not to approach him then, because the one time she tried, tapping his shoulder to get his attention, his hand was gripping her wrist with a swift, crushing brutality that was so sudden, she had no chance to react.  
  
Although he tried to brush it off, admonishing her for sneaking up on him, she noticed the nonplused expression in his eyes, and later, the unsettled guilt when he saw the dark purple bruise he had left.  
  
It bothered her even more that she was able to observe him unawares a few times as he would seem to regain an awareness to his surroundings. Valgaav's expression was always distressed. Every time she tried to bring it up, though, he would change the topic and tell her she was imagining things, or that he was simply contemplating his life.  
  
The nightmares weren't going away either. Filia had taken to levitating the foot of his bed a few inches off the floor, letting it drop back down with a jolt as a means of waking him, standing well outside of reach beyond the door.  
  
Other than that, during the moments when normalcy reigned, she found herself actually enjoying his company. Either he was becoming less curt, or she was becoming more accustomed to his coarseness. There were even a few times when he paid her compliments; subtle at first, then a few outright ones would show up now and again.  
  
Pulling the dried laundry off the line, Filia looked at the house, wondering where Valgaav was at, and half-considering going off to search for him. He had recently begun taking walks, assisted by a cane, to build his strength back up, but he had never been gone quite this long before.  
  
Her mind began to drift over scenarios, each one worse than the one before. What if he had fallen and reinjured himself somehow? What if another Mazoku had come after him? What if it had been Xellos? She knew he no longer had the strengths or abilities of a Mazoku, or at least, that was what he claimed. Although as an Ancient Dragon, he was still more powerful than her, he was still no match for a high-level Mazoku anymore.  
  
By the time she had finished removing the clothes from the line, Filia had worked herself up in to a good state of panic, her mental images having him dead in a ditch somewhere. That did it. She was going to look for him, whether he liked it or not. Picking up the basket, she ran back into the house, and collided with Valgaav as he stepped out of the living room.  
  
He yelped in surprise, grabbing the doorframe to keep from falling backwards, and the basket of clean clothes slipped out of her grip.  
  
"Watch where you're going!" he exclaimed. "You could kill somebody like that."  
  
She just stared at him, savoring the relief that flooded every cell, and hugged him tightly for a moment. "You're alive!"  
  
He didn't hug her back, just standing there motionless. "Uh, yeah?" he replied, in a tone that implied she was maybe just a bit daft.  
  
Pulling away, she swatted him soundly on his arm.  
  
"Ow!" Valgaav glared at her. "What was that for?"  
  
"For scaring me, you big lug!" she shouted. "Where the hell have you been?"  
  
"Can't I go anywhere without you breathing down my neck?" he retorted.  
  
"Not when you're gone for this long!"  
  
"Oh, for the love'a..." He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. "It was only three hours, you crazy dragon!"  
  
"Two more than what you're normally gone for! I thought you were maybe laying dead in a ditch somewhere!"  
  
"Gee, I'm glad to see you hold me in such high regard," Valgaav said sarcastically. "Maybe I can't walk without a limp, but I can still spellcast with the best of them, and oh, let's not forget, I can revert to my full dragon form now. I'm not exactly a helpless invalid who needs you waiting on me hand and foot."  
  
"Well, fine! If that's how you want to be, see if I ever worry about you again!" She bit her tongue just a moment too late after the words tumbled out, fueled by frayed nerved.  
  
"Don't do me any favors," he shot back, glaring at her as he stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.  
  
With a sigh, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "That was brilliant, Filia," she muttered _sotto voce_. Shaking her head slightly, she crouched and picked up the few garments that had spilled out of the basket when she dropped it, and walked into the living room to sort the clothes.  
  
As she was folding them, a glimmer on the end table next to the sofa caught her eye, and as she looked closer, Filia's eyes widened in surprise. It was a small barrette, not quite as long as her index finger, and about as wide. The metal was gold, in a muted shade, and delicately etched with designs of ivy. Tiny blue sapphires were inlaid along the etchings. It wasn't anything very fancy, but it was the first bit of jewelry which had come into her possession in the two months since she had sold off her own.  
  
It hadn't been there before; of this, she was certain. As Filia wondered where it came from, the pieces began to fall into place. Valgaav's longer than usual absence, combined with his leaving the living room when she ran into him; it all added up.  
  
Clutching the barrette in her hand, she bit her lip in shame for having snapped at him, and quietly walked to the closed door. Filia hesitated a moment, then knocked softly. "Valgaav?"  
  
There was no answer for a few long moments. "What do you want?" he asked from the other side of the wood, his tone sharp.  
  
"May I come in?"  
  
Silence greeted her, and as the moments passed, she interpreted that as her answer. Filia started to move away, when her ears picked up the sound of him approaching the door. The knob turn and it swung open. He was already turning away from her, walking back to the bed.  
  
Meekly, she stepped inside, wondering what to say. "I really like the barrette," she said softly.  
  
He glanced at her hand, seeing her holding it, then looked away to the window. "It's from Jillas," he replied, not meeting her eyes. There was just enough touch of embarrassment to his posture and tone for Filia to suspect it wasn't _just_ from Jillas.  
  
"It's quite lovely," she continued. "This is why you were gone so long, isn't it?"  
  
Valgaav only shrugged in response.  
  
Filia wasn't sure what to do at first, then chose to step over to the dresser, looking into the small mirror on the wall as she affixed the barrette in place, securing back some locks of hair that tended to lean toward being unruly. Facing Valgaav, she turned her head a bit for him to see, giving him a small, curious smile.  
  
He studied her, then gave a slight nod. "It suits you," he replied, his tone gruff. He hesitated, getting to his feet again, and walked to the window. "You just looked...I don't know. You needed something in your hair, I guess. Maybe we're just too used to seeing you with that huge thing you used to wear."  
  
Filia smiled softly. His tone was short, his words harsh, but she was learning how to read between his lines. "It's very beautiful," she said quietly. "I missed having pretty things." She walked over to him, stopping at his side, gazing out the window. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I was just...worried. I just was afraid something had happened to you."  
  
"Why? Still determined to save the last Ancient to make up for your own people's crimes?" he asked, a trace of a sneer in his voice.  
  
"Maybe that was the case once," she admitted, looking down for a moment. Then her eyes went up to his face. "But not anymore."  
  
He didn't look at her. "And why's that?"  
  
"Because I'd miss you."  
  
He was still for a few heartbeats, then glanced down at her, studying her face. Valgaav turned his attention back out the window. "I'm not going anywhere."  
  
She smiled warmly. "Thank you again for the barrette. I'm going to go finish laundry now." Filia left the room, shutting the door behind her gently, and closed her eyes as a small grin quirked the corners of her mouth. Feeling warm and fuzzy inside, and rather pleased, she returned to her daily chores.   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	6. Chapter Six

**Note to Readers:** You guys are great. ^_^  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Six

  
  
_Tip-tip-tip-tip-tap-tip._  
  
"Filia?"  
  
"Yes, Valgaav?"  
  
"Are you hammering a nail, or patting a mouse on the head? Make up your mind."  
  
Glaring over her shoulder at him, she stuck out her tongue. "If I'm not careful, I keep hitting my fingers instead." Holding her hand up, she showed off the bruised digits.  
  
"Uh-huh." His expression was deadpan. "How deep have you managed to drive that nail?"  
  
Filia leaned closer, squinting at the wood. She blushed, seeing the tip was barely into it. "Umm..."  
  
"That's what I thought."  
  
"But I keep hammering my fingers and it hurts if I try to hit it harder!"  
  
Rolling his eyes, he got to his feet and walked over to where she was trying to assemble a cabinet for the shop, and carefully eased himself down beside her. "Show me what you're doing."  
  
Sheepishly, she put the nail back in the little dent she made, and proceeded to lightly tap the small head. Valgaav watched her for a moment, then dragged his hand down his face with a sigh.  
  
"No wonder you keep nailing your fingers into the wood instead. For starters, they're in the way, and you're holding the hammer wrong. You're not keeping enough control over it."  
  
Filia blushed faintly. "And how would you know?"  
  
"Because apparently I, unlike you, was actually paying attention to Jillas." He shrugged. "Besides, I kind of remember doing stuff like this before."  
  
"Maybe you should handle the hammering part."  
  
Valgaav looked at her out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then smirked, giving his head a slight shake. "You'll do fine, once you figure it out. Give 'em here. Watch." He took the nail and hammer from her, and held it in place, lightly pounding it until the nail was deep enough into the wood to hold secure on its own, and finished driving it in. "See? Nothing to it."  
  
Filia couldn't see the difference between how she did it, and what he what he was doing. "If you say so," she replied dubiously.  
  
He sighed, handing the hammer back. "Get another nail. We'll try this again."  
  
"I still think maybe I should be doing something else instead of hammering," Filia said, picking up another nail. "I can't make nice pottery if my fingers are battered into bloody stumps."  
  
"Quit complaining," Valgaav retorted.  
  
She studied the planks, figuring out where to put the next nail, and lifted the hammer. Before she hit at it, Valgaav reached over, stopping her hand.  
  
"No, hold the nail like this."  
  
Filia relaxed her hand, letting him position her fingers. His touch was surprisingly light, and it was then that she realized he rarely did come in contact with her, outside of the few rare moments when gripped by dreams, either asleep or awake, and that touch was anything but mild.  
  
But it wasn't until he closed his hand over hers softly, adjusting her grip on the hammer handle that she started having trouble breathing. Her skin prickled, feeling like there was a sensation of static electricity crackling wherever his skin touched hers, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. When he reached across her, gripping the hand and wrist which held the nail lightly to hold it steady, the heat began to pour up her arms until it spilled over like a waterfall into her chest, and rose to scorch her cheeks.  
  
She was dimly mindful of him saying something about the hammer and nail, but her wayward brain tossed it out as being of little importance. Painfully aware of how hard her heart was pounding, Filia wondered how something so innocent and commonplace as helping someone with building a shelf could feel completely sinful.  
  
Even more than that, it was Valgaav. He barely tolerated her on his good days. Why was she reacting like this? It was immoral and thoroughly depraved. Shrine maidens -- never mind the fact she was no longer a priestess -- did not behave, did not react like to carnal things as if they were no more than a base whore off the street.  
  
But why, in the name of all that ever was, did something that was so wicked feel so right?  
  
Hearing her name, she snapped out of her daze somewhat, managing to focus her eyes on his face. "Um, what?" she somehow squeaked out, her mouth feeling terribly dry.  
  
Valgaav looked at her for a long moment, then made an annoyed sound, somewhere between a sigh and a huff. "Isn't your mind a little too small to be out wandering by itself?"  
  
Filia realized she'd been caught daydreaming, blushed, and then blushed thirty shades deeper as it occurred to her what she'd been caught daydreaming _about_. Every single cell in her being begged every single deity which might care to listen for Valgaav to not know what had been going through her mind. Failing that, perhaps the ground would swallow her whole.  
  
"Um, sorry," she managed to squeak, and to her own ears, her voice sounded more like a mouse being throttled. "I'm listening! Honest!"  
  
He shot her a skeptical glance, then did a very faint double-take, looking away quickly. She couldn't be certain, as he ducked his head, his aqua-toned hair obscuring his cheeks, but it almost looked as if he started to blush as well.  
  
"Right," he replied, his voice a little strained. He cleared his throat, quickly letting go of her hands and made a vague sort of gesture to the shelf. "What you've got... er, that is, um, the thing of it is, what you need to do, uh, is..." He paused, giving his head a slight shake as he closed his eyes.  
  
"Gimme those here," Valgaav said, his tone suddenly just a bit cutting as he snatched the hammer from her hand. "Get Jillas to show ya again if you really wanna learn. I'll finish this. You'll probably just mess it up anyway at this rate. Go find something else to do." He grabbed another nail, and pounded it through the wood in just three blows.  
  
Biting down on her bottom lip hard, Filia scrambled to her feet, hastily backing away. She tarried for only a moment before darting out of the parlor, fighting down the urge to find a nice, deep hole in the ground to bury herself in. He knew, and from how he reacted, he was obviously disgusted by her sudden lapse in morals. Who wouldn't be? Trying to compensate for her own sordid thoughts, she poured herself into a cleaning spree of the house.   
  


* * *

  
As soon as Filia was out of the room, Valgaav exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, letting his forehead drop onto the shelf. He hadn't meant to be quite _that_ much of an ass to her, but by all the gods, that woman was completely vexatious. He'd only been trying to show her how to do the job properly, for crying out loud, not hit on her.  
  
What was her problem, anyway? It was three months since Darkstar had been defeated, and they had spent virtually all that time in one another's presence somehow or other. He tried to figure out why she suddenly now started acting like a lovesick whelp, and shook his head.  
  
Women. Who could ever figure them out?  
  
It was bad enough that she had started acting like a ninny, but did she really have to go and infect him too? Raking his palm down his face, he stared out the window. She was a _Golden_, for crying out loud. She was everything he despised. Yes, she was quite attractive, he was neither stupid or blind. But things like that meant little to him. He wasn't drawn to her, not in the slightest. He just tolerated her presence.  
  
Valgaav viciously snapped at the little voice inside that suggested he did more than just tolerate her.  
  
Yeah, so he picked out that barrette. So what? The money had come from Jillas. The only reason Valgaav had gotten the idea was because she... He faltered over his reasonings. She just looked strange without something in her hair. That was it. That was all it was. He did the picking out because he _was_ a dragon, after all, and if there was one thing dragons understood, it was shiny, pretty, things.  
  
It didn't mean anything more. Just a little 'thank you' for saving his life and such. Whatever that was worth.  
  
He needed to get away for a day or so, put some distance between them. That would clear his head, and he wouldn't get any more thoughts along the lines of her being momentarily winsome, her face as red as an apple, completely flustered. Again, his forehead made contact with the wood.  
  
That settled it. Valgaav had been wanting to return to his former fortress, to see if there was anything he wanted to keep, or maybe even if he still wanted to stay. Staying there sounded good. In fact, it sounded better by the moment. Now that he had full access to his dragon form, the lack of teleportation wasn't that much of a problem. He could cover more distance in flight than on foot, so acquiring food would be relatively easy.  
  
And maybe once he got away from her, he'd stop losing time, stop getting pulled back into a past he'd rather forget. It was bad enough they constantly invaded his dreams, but the lapses of awareness in his waking hours left him chilled.   
  


* * *

  
Dinnertime was a tense affair. Filia had made a meal that was almost gourmet, from all the attention and meticulous care she put into it, trying to keep her mind off the events that transpired earlier that day. But she could barely touch it, trying not to look at Valgaav, and trying not to be obvious about not looking at him.  
  
Jillas was the only one who appeared to be at ease, digging into the casserole Filia baked with a healthy appetite. She and Valgaav remained quiet, content to let him chatter away about his day, and things he had seen and done. Finally, the meal ended, and the two males retired to prepare for bed, although Jillas only did so after Filia shooed him out of her kitchen, reassuring him she could handle the dishes herself.  
  
Filia kept her kitchen spotless to begin with, but when she finally finished straightening up, trying to take her mind off her humiliating behavior, and the tension of dinner, it was immaculate. Dousing the lights, she retired to the living room, stepping behind the privacy screen to change into her nightgown. The fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace when she lay down on the couch, and by the time it died down to brightly glowing chunks of wood that seemed to put off more heat than an active flame, she was still awake.  
  
Filia liked the fire best at that stage. There was something haunting about the heated glow of the large embers, the way faint shadows would drift and shift throughout, like there was something alive in them. But it wouldn't be long before they would begin to cool; the darkening layers of ash would slowly obscure their beauty until the flames within finally died.  
  
It was funny, she reflected, how in nature, the most lovely moments were the ones that were the most fleeting. The few heartbeats of sunrise when it would be at its peak of perfection, the breathtaking glow for that transitory moment when the fire would be within the wood.  
  
And even the sensation of his hands on hers, close enough that she could feel his warmth.  
  
Turning her head slightly, she closed her eyes, burying her face in the pillow. She was insane. Most days she was lucky if she even harbored any hope for him to at least accept her, it seemed. Was that a part of it? The safety of knowing that it wouldn't be reciprocated?  
  
A creak of wood startled her out of her musings, and she sat up, looking around in the darkness for the source. By the faint light of the embers, she could make out a tall form in the hallway, motionless.  
  
"Valgaav?" she whispered.  
  
There was a soft sigh. "Go back to sleep, Filia," he replied.  
  
"I wasn't sleeping..." She pushed the blankets away, picking up one to wrap around her shoulders, warding off the chill. "Are you okay?" Filia asked, walking over to him.  
  
It was then that she noticed the bag in his hand. Suddenly, the blanket wasn't anywhere near enough to battle the cold that was in her bones. "You're leaving?" she whispered, desperately trying to fight down the stinging sensation that was building in her eyes and the bridge of her nose. "Without saying good-bye?"  
  
He looked away.  
  
Filia's heart constricted as she looked down, closing her eyes. "You said you wouldn't go anywhere," she whispered before she could stop herself. Part of her wondered why she was so surprised, why it felt like someone had just stabbed her in the chest. She was a fool for not expecting this.  
  
"I lied." His tone was flat, brisk, and a whip wouldn't have stung as much.  
  
"The sooner you can get away from me. I remember," Filia retorted softly, then winced as the bitter hurt reached her ears. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." Not looking up at him, she added, "do you need anything for your trip? Food, a canteen?"  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
"I'll miss your cooking," he replied quietly.  
  
_Just not me..._ Filia held her breath at the odd sensation of a scream that felt despairing and frantic building up in her chest. Why did it surprise her, hurt her? Her own idiocy at apparently believing otherwise left an unpalatable taste in her mouth.  
  
"I'll make you something, then," she murmured, unable to keep the flat sound out of her voice. His answer was as close to a yet as he would be likely to give. Trying to will herself to stop shaking, she walked to the table, picking up the lamp, and poked at the embers with a straw to set it on fire, touching the small flame to the wick.   
  


* * *

  
_The sooner you can get away from me_. The words, especially the wounded sound beneath them, still rang in his ears as he followed her to the kitchen. So she still remembered what he had said all those months ago.  
  
The problem was, that wasn't quite the reason. Valgaav just didn't know how to convince her otherwise.  
  
And maybe it was better to let her keep thinking as she did.  
  
Valgaav leaned against the wall, watching her pulling a few things out of the larder, her face illuminated by the lamp in her hand. Filia's lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her eyes were unnaturally bright from the lamplight reflecting off the excess wetness pooling there, but not falling.  
  
What did he care? He pulled out all his tried and true reasons, but grew more uncomfortable as they all fell flat. _She's just a Golden_. She might be a Golden, but she wasn't like the rest of them at all. _I don't need her_. Then why was he starting to feel guilty over leaving? _I'll hurt her if I stay_... Going seemed to be doing a good job of that too.  
  
Filia swallowed hard, and he could see her hands tremble in the soft light as she set about preparing some food which would travel well. Even though she clearly hated the idea that he was leaving, she was still trying to take care of him.  
  
_I should have waited a while longer_...  
  
"Jillas is better off with you," he said quietly, and she grew still for a moment, not looking up. "Besides, I wouldn't feel right, leaving you here by yourself."  
  
Filia slammed a jar down so hard, he flinched on reflex, half-expecting it to shatter. "What was it you said to me once? Don't do me any favors?" she snapped, looking up at him. The tears that finally spilled out of her eyes were what softened the blow of her words. "Well, don't! I can take care of myself."  
  
"Filia--"  
  
"Just shut up."  
  
He stared at her, then looked away. "It's better this way," he said.  
  
"Of course it is." Her tone was vitriolic.  
  
"Dammit, Filia--"  
  
She roughly shoved a package into the bag of food. "So much for letting the past stay in the past, hmm? Guess you can't get over the fact I'm a _Golden_." There was a note of self-derision to her voice that made him grit his teeth. "I wonder now why I even bothered to try. If you're still so determined to crucify me over crimes committed before I was even born, then good riddance!"  
  
Dropping his bag, he stepped over to her quickly, giving her shoulders a rough shake. "Knock it off!" he snapped. "I _want_ the past to stay there, but it won't leave me alone! And no matter what you think, I _don't_ think you deserve to get caught in that crossfire!"  
  
Filia didn't move for a long moment, then she turned her head away, raising her hand to press it to her lips as she closed her eyes tightly, her expression crumpling. She made a soft choking sound, and tried to pull away.  
  
Valgaav sighed, then awkwardly drew her into a light hug. How did something so clear-cut and logical as leaving become so muddled? "I'll come back," he told her before he knew what he was saying. "I just... just need some time, I guess."  
  
Filia didn't return the hug, merely nodding a bit and pushed him away with a gentleness borne from a lack of strength. Turning back to the table, she closed the bag of supplies and handed it to him. "Be careful," she whispered.   
  
Valgaav studied her face. "Try to get some sleep," he told her.  
  
"What do you want me to say to Jillas?"  
  
"That I'll come back."   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	7. Chapter Seven

**Note to Readers:** Don't blame me! Blame my muse!  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Seven

  
  
By the time dawn came, Valgaav was miles from any town. There were no villagers to see him and become frightened, or worse yet, try to attack. He could handle any of them easily. He just didn't feel like dealing with it. Not for his first time in true flight in over a thousand years.  
  
Most dragons sported scales and wings of leather, and were cold-blooded. The Ancients had wings of feather, and their hide was more of a tough, pebbly leather than actual scales, and they were warm-blooded. It was the warm-bloodedness that enabled them to make their home in the snow, amid the freezing cold that would eventually prove fatal to any beast that could not regulate its own internal temperature.  
  
As the sunbeams spilled over the mountains to the east, creeping further up the sky, Valgaav closed his eyes, ruffling the feathers in his wings slightly, letting the air current carry him higher. As a Mazoku, he could hover in mid-air with no effort, he could simulate flight if he so wished, but there was nothing as exhilarating as the real thing. He had forgotten how good it felt, to ride the currents up to where the air thinned, to hear the soft whine of the wind whistling past his ears, to feel the paradoxical mixture of warmth and cold as the air chilled him, but the sun soaked into his blue-black feathers and hide.  
  
But there was no freedom in it now. His spirits were too weighted down to be lifted; at best, it was a balm, easing some of the ache that had gathered there for a millennia.  
  
Valgaav had no intention of going back, originally. It was better for all them that way, to his way of seeing it. The words, the promise that he would, escaped his lips before he thought better of it, just searching for something to make her stop crying, hurting. Now that they were said, he had to return. He was an ass, he'd admit to that, even proudly. But he wasn't so much of one that he'd lie.  
  
After all, he never said for how long he'd be stay once he did come back.  
  
Filia wasn't just another Golden, he reflected. Time and again, she proved herself to be in possession of a level of compassion he'd believed those cold-hearted, cold-blooded bastards were incapable of feeling. And he also felt she deserved more. What she didn't know was that after each time his mind slipped back into the past, reliving it, he'd watch her. He'd already injured her several times. Valgaav could sense Filia was a Golden, and during those times, that was all that mattered. He didn't remember who she was, or what she had done. All he could see was an enemy to destroy.  
  
Sooner or later, he'd hurt her more than just a few bruises or a sprained joint. It was just a matter of time, and he wouldn't be like them. He wouldn't attack someone for no reason, or worse, a poor reason. That wasn't something he could tell Filia, though. No, not with her heart. She'd just bend over backward and work even harder to find a way to help him, and she'd already done so much.  
  
Filia was a Golden, but she wasn't one of them. She hadn't even been an egg when the attacks came. It took him a while to realize it, but by punishing her for what they'd done was just as bad as what they had done to his own people. They were innocent of the crimes of which they were accused.  
  
He still used her being a Golden to keep her at a distance, though. It was almost funny. Filia thought Valgaav was punishing her, when all he was trying to do was make her stop caring so she could focus her energies elsewhere. He'd done nothing for her except to bring hurt, and the more he did, the harder she tried to bring peace.  
  
He didn't deserve that.  
  
Valgaav closed his eyes, lowering his head a bit as he drifted, held aloft by the currents. He could still hear her screaming, feel her struggling, feel her terror laced with a deep and wounded compassion that he hadn't been able to understand, still couldn't fully understand, at the time. He could recall too clearly the look in her eyes as he gripped her arms, forcing her to hold the weapon, forcing her to summon Darkstar.  
  
And even in the end, he could tell she had held out against trying to harm him as long as she could.  
  
Valgaav had done nothing to her to deserve that, yet she gave it anyway. He'd been as scathing and spiteful to her as he could be, and she kept trying. Oh, there were times the fatigue, the pain, and her temper would emerge, but once it was over, she always apologized, even though she hadn't done anything wrong.  
  
He didn't deserve _her_.  
  
He was glad the other Goldens were dead. They didn't deserve her either. How she had avoided being corrupted by them, he wasn't certain. But they would never have the chance now.  
  
It was funny how he'd always been able to think more clearly when flying.   
  


* * *

  
"What's so funny about that?"  
  
Caitarina looked at him through her hair, which had tumbled into her eyes in her laughter. It was the color of dark wood, until the sun touched it, giving it a golden sheen. Her amber eyes were impish as she peeked up at him.  
  
"Val, you know how it gets harder to breathe the higher you go?"  
  
"Uh-huh?" He crossed his arms, sitting back with a mock scowl, waiting to see where she was taking this.  
  
"The air's thinner. Less of it gets to your brain. Maybe you're not thinking more clearly but just delusionally." Her lips parted in a huge grin.  
  
Val dragged his palm down his face with a sigh, then peered at her before scooping up a handful of snow, throwing it at Caitarina. "I don't think 'delusionally' is a word, so who's the crazy one now?"  
  
She stopped laughing, but the impish grin and gleam to her eye remained. "Oh, I never said I wasn't crazy," Caitarina replied, crawling across the snow to settle down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'd have to be crazy to love you."  
  
"Oh, that does it!" He pounced her then, causing her to shriek breathlessly even while laughing, and shoved a handful of snow under her collar. Her eyes widened as the cold hit her skin, and she started playfully pummeling him with her fists while trying to squirm out of his grip.  
  
"Val! You jerk! I'm gonna get you for this!"  
  
"Why? What's wrong?" He easily captured her wrists, smirking her. "A little cold, are we?"  
  
"I'm telling your mother on you," she retorted in imitation propriety.  
  
"Aww. Would it help if I warmed you back up?" With that, Val lowered his head to her neck, closing his lips over the flesh made wet by melting snow, kissing her as he exhaled softly, using his breath to warm her.  
  
Caitarina whimpered for a moment before purring quietly. "You're evil," she whispered. "Just pure evil."  
  
"Hmm. Takes one to know one," he replied, punctuating his words with a light nip.   
  


* * *

  
_This is a most curious turn of events_.  
  
Reports of an Ancient dragon in flight had reached him, and he already guessed the answer before he arrived, lingering out of sight, high above. He had watched the dragon suddenly stiffen in flight, and land heavily, just this side of crashing, on the plains below, curling up.  
  
The anguish was quite a pleasant sensation.  
  
It would be a terribly simple thing to kill him now. Far too simple for his liking. There was no fun in it, no fun at all.  
  
There was no hurry. Time really was a meaningless thing to him, and of which he had plenty. He could, and would wait, and bide his time. He didn't want an easy victory. He wanted the spirit dead long before the body.  
  
That was always much more tasty.  
  
With a faint smirk, and a dark flash, the Ancient on the ground below was left alone once again.   
  


* * *

  
Digging his talons into the ground, crushing the turf, Valgaav gritted his teeth, willing the pain to abate. The ache inside was so intense, it felt like something was physically inside his chest, twisting and gnawing. He had refused to let himself think of his family, or of her, for years.  
  
Now, he could remember them with a crystal clarity as if it all happened yesterday. Desperately, he pushed the thought of his younger brother out of his mind even as the circumstances of Caitarina's death came slipping in past the walls. They were dead, and there was nothing he could do to change that.  
  
Remembering them was pointless.  
  
Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he fought down the rising sensations. He hadn't cried once since that day, and he was not about to start. There was nothing he could do.  
  
Everyone he ever loved died. His family, Caitarina, Gaav, everyone. No more. He wasn't going to let anyone that close again. He wasn't going to lose anyone again.  
  
With a low growl, he beat his wings down once with a powerful stroke, kicking off with his hind legs, ripping his talons from the ground as he took to flight, beating his wings furiously to gain a tremendous level of speed, trying to out-fly the pain he wished would stay behind.  
  
It didn't take him long after that to reach the vicinity of his cave, not at the pace he kept. Wearily, his shoulder muscles burning from the exertion, Valgaav landed and walked through the entrance, staying in his dragon body. The fit was tight in parts, but he knew it would be large enough once he was inside the greater chambers. Then, he'd just curl up and sleep.  
  
And pray to whomever might still be listening that for once, the nightmares would leave him alone.  
  
As he moved in further, Valgaav gritted his teeth in a low snarl. Already, he could tell that his plans would have to be put on hold. Someone else was there; he could smell them.  
  
Pausing for a moment, he set the small sack containing his clothes and traveling food aside, and shifted into his humanoid body, crouching low. Since the intruder was still beyond the range of vision, he closed his eyes and focused all his energy into his other senses.  
  
He could make out the shuffling sounds of a large hulk of a being moving about. There were a few grunts, a sound that suspiciously resembled scratching, and some incoherent muttering. Silence for a moment, then a loud, long sigh. Twisting his face slightly at the odor of someone who'd gone without bathing for a while mingled with the acrid scent of cheap alcohol, Valgaav narrowed his eyes in derision. Whoever had decided to move into his home in his absence would be easily dispatched.  
  
"That's funny. I don't recall leaving the door key under the mat for anyone," Valgaav commented, crossing his arms as he stood, striding toward the source, prepared for anything.  
  
Well, except for a high-pitched, and rather startled shriek as whoever was in his cave scrambled to his feet, sending rocks rattling about as the massive bulk collided with a wall.  
  
"Who goes there?" a rather familiar voice demanded, the words a bit slurred.  
  
Valgaav stopped, his eyes widening as he realized who it was, then smirked, leaning on the wall. "Well, well, well. Gravos. I'd thought you were dead."  
  
There was a slight pause. "L-lord Valgaav?" Gravos stammered, staggering toward him and squinting. "Is that really you? I thought you were dead!"  
  
"Only mostly dead, but that's another story."  
  
"What happened to your horn..?"  
  
"That's anoth-- well, it's not another story, but it's a rather long one and I'm quite tired from my trip."  
  
"Where-- Oh, yes, of course!" He started to hurry to prepare the place for Valgaav, only tripping over his own feet in the process.  
  
Valgaav sighed. "Don't worry about it, Gravos. I just want to rest." He paused. "It's good to see you again."  
  
"I looked for everybody. Inverse hit me with a Dragon Slave and it took a long time to figure out which way to go to return home, but when I got back here, everything's gone."  
  
"You missed a lot. I'll let Jillas explain it to you."  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"I left him with Filia," Valgaav replied, easing himself down to the floor, flexing his stiff shoulders.  
  
Gravos paused, making a confused sound. "Who?"  
  
"She's another long story."  
  
"Oh. Okay. Are you back to stay, Lord Valgaav? Do you want me to go hunt down Inverse and bring her head to you?"  
  
Valgaav smirked slightly. "A pleasant thought, but no, to both of your questions. I just returned to see if there was anything here I wished to keep."  
  
"Oh." The large servant sounded dejected.  
  
"But you may go with me if you wish."  
  
"I live only to serve you, Lord Valgaav."  
  
"Rest, Gravos, and sleep off that ale."   
  


* * *

  
"Okay, oneesan, I think it's done."  
  
Filia looked up from the shelf she was sanding down for Jillas to stain. "Oh, already?"  
  
"I think. I've never built a kiln before," Jillas said.  
  
She stood, dusting off her hands on her apron. "Let's take a look then, shall we?" she said, stepping past him with a small smile.  
  
They went out back to where the box-like small shed Jillas constructed was located. The walls were thick, solid stone, and as Filia inspected the design, she was even more impressed with Jillas' abilities than she already was. He had designed and built it from scratch, with precious little more to go by than her own descriptions and sketches.  
  
"It looks wonderful, Jillas!" she exclaimed, hugging the fox-man.  
  
Jillas gave her a wide-eyed look of utter adoration at her praise, glowing proudly. "I'm so glad you like it, oneesan!" he cried, hugging her back tightly. "And I got you to smile!"  
  
Filia blinked, patting his head. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You've been so sad, oneesan."  
  
Closing her eyes, she forced the smile not to slip off her face. "I'm fine, Jillas."  
  
"He'll come back. He said he would, so he will," Jillas replied as he stepped back, speaking confidently. "Just give him some time."  
  
Filia felt her smile grow wan. She didn't have the assurance of the loyal servant, and in the five days since he'd left, her doubt was growing stronger. "I'll go throw some clay and make a bowl, if you'll start up the fire? We need to test the kiln."  
  
"Okay, oneesan!"  
  
"Jillas?"  
  
"Yes, oneesan?"  
  
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that she was not his oneesan. Instead, she just gave him a small smile. "Thank you."  
  
The days began to pass by at conflicting paces. Sometimes, the hours flew so quickly, Filia wondered where they all went, but decided her question was answered the way other hours seemed longer than usual.  
  
The kiln's first firing had been a success, and while Jillas worked to finish up the last of the work on the shop, Filia threw herself into the clay, losing herself in the comforting familiarity of the control she wielded.  
  
Her legs were sore at first, out of practice spinning a pottery wheel, but she barely noticed. After the breakfast dishes were cleaned, and a light lunch was prepared in advance, Filia sat at the wheel, throwing clay, letting her wet hands lightly skim over the rapidly spinning clay, gently coaxing it into whatever shape she'd fancy, pressing her fingers into it until it would reach an almost impossible thinness, crafting tea pots and cups with utmost care.  
  
At night, after supper, she would take the time to press the clay into molds, forming dainty saucers. By the candlelight, after that was finished, she would return to her wheel, making more sturdy vases and bowls, objects that did not require the strict concentration for the delicate tea sets.  
  
As they dried, she began to paint and glaze them, pouring her attention into the delicate patterns laid down by her brush. She did one set a day, careful to stay within the same colors and patterns, making each hand-painted item as identical to its partners as possible.  
  
The kiln was kept running constantly, as the sets were completed, and fired. Whenever they were ready, she began arranging them on the shelves of the shop meticulously, waiting until she had as much merchandise as possible before she opened, hoping she would busy enough to find it difficult to have the time to work on new sets.  
  
Closing her eyes, she took her bare feet off the wheel and tilted her head back, working out the stiffness and kinks in her neck as she waited for the wheel to come to a stop before pulling off the bowl she'd just made. That would be enough for one day. Sleep was a tempting prospect.  
  
Fighting down a yawn, she carefully lifted the bowl and set it aside to dry, studying it to make sure she didn't damage it in the process. Satisfied with her work, Filia headed out to the back, where it was faintly lit by the orange glow from the vents of kiln. Using her arms to prime the pump handle, trying to avoid getting wet clay on it, she got the water going at a steady stream, sticking her hands under it to rinse them clean.  
  
Then, a deep, chilling sensation warned her she was suddenly no longer alone.  
  
"My, my. I see you've been quite busy, Miss Filia," a cheerful voice behind her said.  
  
_Namagomi_.   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	8. Chapter Eight

**Note to Readers:** I never could figure out how Gravos met up with Jillas again at the end of TRY. I wanted him back in the 'fic, and sending Val back was the most plausible way I could see.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Eight

  
  
On reflex, Filia reached for her mace as she whirled around to face Xellos. "What are you doing here?" she gasped in surprise, and grimaced inwardly when it dawned on her that her mace was in the living room, where it wouldn't do her any good now.  
  
"I just thought I would drop by to see how you were faring, Miss Filia," he replied, still smiling cheerfully. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"You never just 'drop by' anywhere without a reason," Filia said, watching him warily as she backed up against the well. "Did Beastmaster send you here?"  
  
He just smiled. "Sore wa himitsu desu."  
  
Unsuccessfully fighting down a twitch, she snarled at him. "Why am I not surprised?"  
  
"Tsk, Miss Filia. Such a temper. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else from a violent dragon, but I thought that perhaps you were warming up to me."  
  
"I'd never warm up to you, namagomi!"  
  
His smile grew momentarily tense. "Even after saving my life?"  
  
Filia looked away with a slight shrug. "You saved mine. We're even."  
  
"And here I thought we were perhaps allies."  
  
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Xellos," Filia retorted, looking at him. "That phrase mean anything to you?"  
  
"More than you will ever know."  
  
Something about the way he said it sent a cold chill down her spine.  
  
"You seem to be making quite a lovely little home for yourself," Xellos continued, looking over to the kiln. "I foresee quite a bit of success for your little shop."  
  
"Listen to me, you namagomi. It's been a long day, I'm tired, I'm not in the mood for chit-chat, and least of all chit-chat from you!" Filia growled. "So either get out, or tell me why you're _really_ here."  
  
Xellos' expression shifted slightly to reveal a hint of a closed-eye scowl. "Is this how you always conduct yourself with those who are merely concerned for your welfare?"  
  
"_You_? Concerned for my welfare? Don't make me laugh."  
  
"Why is that so difficult for you to believe? I wouldn't want harm to come to my little dragon, after all."  
  
Filia twitched. "Your dragon? _Your_ dragon? I am nobody's dragon and least of all yours! In fact, I'll do that one better! I'll _never_ be your dragon! Not in a million years! Not even in a billion!"  
  
He definitely scowled at that, and she thought for a moment that perhaps his eyes opened to slits. "Very well, then. I simply don't know what I was thinking, coming all the way out here to warn you, taking time out of my busy day. You're still a selfish, violent, and childish dragon."  
  
"Right. And I bet whatever you were going to warn me about is a secret too," Filia sneered.  
  
"You keep that attitude up, and it will be!"  
  
"The only thing I have to worry about around here, namagomi, is you."  
  
No sooner were the words out of her mouth when he suddenly reappeared directly in front of her, his staff horizontal against her upper back, his hands gripping it, pulling her forward, pinning her to him tightly. Then, he opened his eyes, staring straight into hers with a malicious glee.  
  
"Yes, Fi-chan," he purred softly, his tone taunting. Filia shivered uncontrollably, suddenly deeply afraid. "You _should_ fear me. It's ever so delicious when you do. You seem to have trouble remembering who I am, _what_ I am."  
  
"I know what you are," Filia whispered, trying with precious little success not to stammer. "You're...you're..." She trailed off, unable to muster the courage to provoke him.  
  
"I'm what, Fi-chan?" Xellos released a hand from the staff, but it still pinned her to him with a strength impossible to counter. He trailed his gloved fingertip down her cheek, his touch almost tender. "Baka namagomi? Is that what you were about to say? Oh, but I'm so much more than that, remember? I killed thousands of your kind by merely pointing a finger. I could crush you like a dry autumn leaf."  
  
"Let me go," she murmured, trying to breathe. Fear formed too solid a lump in her chest, constricting her lungs.  
  
"And what if I do not wish to?" he murmured back, his face mere inches from hers. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his terrible eyes, compelling and hypnotic. "Never forget who the top predator here is, Filia. Never forget that you are not on the top of the food chain here."  
  
Filia tried to close her eyes, but only managed a slow blink before they opened again of their own apparent free will. "You're scaring me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"  
  
The way his gloved fingertips brushed over her face was a stark contrast to the unyielding way he pinned her against him. "No, Fi-chan. I can feel your fear. I can taste it. Dragons always made for the most delicious meals when frightened." His chuckle, soft and low, made her whimper. "You are all so accustomed to being at the top, you are unprepared for the sensation of being prey."  
  
"Is that all I am to you?" she stammered. "Prey?"  
  
Xellos' lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Sore wa himitsu desu."  
  
"Then what do you want?"  
  
"I want to hear you say you're sorry."  
  
Somehow, she managed to will the words into forming. "I'm sorry..."  
  
As suddenly as he had gripped her, he disappeared, returning to her vision a second later, a few feet away. His eyes were closed once more, his expression cheerful. "There now!" His tone was lighthearted. "Was that so difficult?"  
  
Filia tried to will her knees to stop shaking. "What were you here to warn me about?" she asked, ignoring his question.  
  
"Oh, yes! There is that little matter!" Xellos took on a closed-eye expression of concern. "Valgaav is still alive."  
  
If Filia had thought she was scared before, it paled in comparison to the sensation of dread that froze her clear down to her bones. She tried to respond, to regain some normalcy, but nothing more escaped her lips than a faint squeak. _Please, let him believe I'm just scared of the prospect of Valgaav surviving. Please don't let this be the reason why he hasn't come back yet!_  
  
"Oh, dear me, Miss Filia!" Xellos exclaimed, frowning as he walked over to her side. "Perhaps you should sit down. How callous of me. I hadn't realized how afraid you were of him. It is a good thing I am here, then. Don't worry, little dragon, he won't harm you."  
  
_Breathe_, she ordered herself, looking at Xellos. "H...how do you know?"  
  
"Why, I saw him, of course," he replied.  
  
Filia felt nauseous.  
  
"And of course, it occurred to me that you might be in danger. After all, he might wish to complete his revenge by killing the last Golden. Come. You're far too pale, Miss Filia. Let's go inside."  
  
Filia let him lead her into the kitchen, and she sank heavily into a chair.  
  
"You worry over nothing, Miss Filia. I won't let him harm you."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Filia closed her eyes, resting her head on the table. Xellos tenderly stroked her hair.  
  
"Sore wa himitsu desu, and nothing my little dragon needs to worry about."  
  
A snarl from the doorway caused her to look up in alarm, every nerve jangling and on edge, expecting to see Valgaav.  
  
"Oneesan?" It was just Jillas, but there was a murderous glint in his remaining eye as he glared at Xellos. "Is this Mazoku hurting you?"  
  
"Hurting Miss Filia?" Xellos sounded appalled at the thought. "Why, certainly not! I am merely warning her of danger. Isn't that right, Miss Filia?"  
  
She felt like she was standing on the outside, watching herself nod automatically in response.  
  
"Now, I'm afraid I must be gone, duty calls and all that, but don't you worry, little dragon." He gave her head a soft pat. "I will be watching you."  
  
Perhaps it had been meant to sound reassuring, but to Filia's ears, it sounded more like a threat.  
  
"Get out of here!" Jillas snapped, raising his hand, which was wrapped around the butt of a metal object he'd invented, called a gun.  
  
Xellos merely chucked in amusement, giving Jillas his trademarked, closed-eye smile. "Well, well, well. You would seem to have a loyal little pup willing to snap at a Mazoku's ankles. But say! Weren't you Valgaav's servant?" he asked Jillas, then looked to Filia. "Irony certainly seems to like you, Miss Filia. The servant of the very one who would see you dead is now your loyal protector?"  
  
Filia just stared at him, trying to will him to leave.  
  
"I see I shall be leaving you in good hands." There was just a trace of sarcasm in his tone. "Good eve, Miss Filia. I shall return." With a dark flash, he vanished.  
  
Closing her eyes, Filia doubled over where she sat as she started to shake uncontrollably, one arm tightly over her stomach, the other hand pressed to her mouth. All the adrenaline began to taper off, leaving her feeling spent, terrified, and ill. A second later, she felt Jillas hugging her firmly.  
  
"Are you okay, oneesan? He didn't hurt you, did he? Oneesan? Talk to me."  
  
"He knows Valgaav's alive," Filia whispered.  
  
Jillas was quiet for a moment, then he stroked her hair. "Lord Valgaav will be fine," he assured her. "He knows how to take care of himself."  
  
"He's not Mazoku anymore," Filia reminded him. "He's no longer a match for Xellos."  
  
"Don't be so quick to count him out. Mazoku or not, he's a clever one, that Lord Valgaav. He'll figure out something." Jillas paused. "Does he know Lord Valgaav's staying here?"  
  
"I don't know," Filia murmured, sitting up a bit straighter as she drew in a deep breath, trying to still her nerves. "He saw him though."  
  
"That baka Mazoku's lying."  
  
"No." As much as she despised him, Filia knew otherwise. "He doesn't lie. He just...tends to leave out important details. But I've never known him to lie."  
  
Jillas didn't seem to have an answer to that immediately. "Lord Valgaav will be fine," he repeated firmly.  
  
"But what of next time? What if when he returns, Valgaav is here?"  
  
"Then we will deal with that when it happens. For now though, don't be so scared, oneesan."   
  


* * *

  
Originally, Gravos had been under the assumption that they would be departing the next morning. Valgaav had been quick to correct that. Gravos or no Gravos, he would stick to his original plan.  
  
It was the utter solitude, the peace and quiet, he craved. The chance to be completely alone with himself, to try and deal with events, both recent and distant past, in his own way, on his own terms.  
  
He had been there a little over a week before he realized something which disturbed him. He actually missed Filia.  
  
It hit him full force when he was recounting to Gravos some of the things that had happened in the last three, almost four months since Darkstar's defeat, and the easy banter she had with Jillas. When the troll burst out laughing over a humorous recollection, Valgaav remembered the sound of Filia's laughter, and the way she had become flushed and breathless over the same incident before she was able to stop laughing.  
  
Even then, she hadn't been able to stop laughing entirely. She kept dissolving into giggles as she cooked, and it was a half hour before they finally ceased. Filia's good humor had been so infectious, Valgaav had caught himself smiling in his own amusement at her carefree manner.  
  
That had brought that little particular chat session with Gravos to a screeching halt as he stalked off, trying to argue himself into believing that missing her was nothing more than a brief lapse of sanity on his part.  
  
A week later, he finally capitulated and admitted to himself that she wasn't an enemy, and there was no reason whatsoever to dislike her. On the contrary, there were plenty of reasons to like her. Her wit, her compassion, the way she would get exasperated over being called oneesan, and more.  
  
In the meantime though, the flashbacks and nightmares didn't stop. Not all of them were centered on the distant past; some of them were more recent. The loss of Gaav, the events surrounding Darkstar, and other moments that spanned a thousand years.  
  
Valgaav finally acknowledged that if they weren't abating yet, they likely wouldn't, or at least not for some time. Meanwhile, he was growing restless, and Gravos was more than ready to be reunited with Jillas again.  
  
Gravos' shock at seeing his lord become fully dragon amused him, at least until the grip of the strong beast's arms around his neck was nearly enough to choke him as they took to flight. Valgaav timed his flight to arrive at the village after sundown, under the cover of darkness. When he landed on the outskirts, Gravos slipped off his back and hit the ground on his knees, practically hugging it.  
  
"Oh, sweet ground! I missed you! I'll never leave you again! Ain't natural!"  
  
Valgaav rolled his eyes and transformed into his more familiar form. "Knock it off, Gravos," he told his servant. "Let's head home."  
  
It was a strange sensation, and not entirely an unpleasant one, when he realized that was how he'd come to think of the little cottage where Filia lived. Home.  
  
He could smell intense heat and burning wood as they approached, and as he walked past the front where the parlor had been, he saw how much work the two had accomplished in the meantime. The store was completed, and inside, he could make out the dark silhouettes of merchandise.  
  
"Is this it?" Gravos asked as he continued around to the front door. He noted with relief that he could see lights still burning within the house. They were still awake.  
  
"Yeah, this is it."  
  
Valgaav opened the door and walked inside, his ears picking up the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. Filia and Jillas. Smirking a bit, he crossed his arms and stopped, leaning in the doorway. "Told you I'd come back."  
  
Jillas jumped, and Filia's wide-eyed gaze snapped around to look at him, and he saw her face was an ashen gray. He didn't need his Mazoku nature to know something had her scared.  
  
Gravos didn't notice anything amiss, and he lumbered past Valgaav. "Jillas!"  
  
The fox-man's countenance lit up brighter than the fire. "Boss! You're alive!"  
  
"Sure am! It would take more than that sorcereress' lousy spells to get rid'a me!"  
  
Valgaav ignored them, wondering what had happened. "Filia, are you all right?"  
  
Hearing his voice seemed to snap her out of her bewildered daze. But that turned out to not be a good thing.  
  
"Get out!" she shrieked, causing all three of them to jump and stare at her as if she'd just grown another head.  
  
Valgaav looked at her, feeling totally confused. "Uh, call this a crazy notion I'm getting off the top of my head, I haven't put a lot of heavy thinking into it, but, did I miss something here?"  
  
Filia got to her feet, pointing to the door. He could see her trembling. "I said get out! I don't want you here! Any of you! Go away! Leave me alone!" she shouted.  
  
Valgaav stared at her, wondering what in the hell brought this on. The irony tasted bitter to him. He'd come to realize he'd missed her, had wanted to come home, had begun to think of this place as home, and now she was taking that away from him.  
  
"Go! Leave me alone!" She was shaking, her voice almost a hysterical scream, her eyes panicked.  
  
He felt sickened at the realization that maybe she'd come to be afraid of _him_.  
  
"Fine," he snapped, the confused hurt making his tone harsher than he intended. "If that's how you feel about it." He turned on his heel to leave. "I won't bother you ever again."  
  
"Lord Valgaav, wait!"  
  
"No, Jillas. The lady wants us gone."  
  
"Oneesan, knock it off! He'll be fine!" Jillas shouted at Filia, then lunged at Valgaav, grabbing his arm. "Xellos was here!"  
  
Valgaav froze as everything snapped into crystal clarity.  
  
"Jillas, shut up!" Filia shrieked, but he could hear the strain in her voice. She was almost to tears.  
  
"_Who_ was here?" Valgaav asked, his tone dangerously soft.  
  
"That baka Mazoku, Xellos," Jillas replied.  
  
Valgaav slowly turned around, looking at Filia, the sting of her words evaporating. He could see her tremble as she sank back down into her chair. She was petrified, definitely, but not of him.  
  
_For_ him. When was the last time someone put his welfare before their own wishes? Rather frequently -- in the last three months, at least.  
  
"You've got to go," she said quietly. "He'll be back. He might even be watching this place now. Can't you understand that? You _can't_ stay here."  
  
"Filia..." He stepped over to the table.  
  
"No!" she whimpered. "Stay away from me. Just go! It's not safe for you here anymore!"  
  
Valgaav sighed, ignoring her protests and reached for her arms, pulling her to her feet. "Do you honestly think I'd leave now, knowing he's been sniffing around?"  
  
"Valgaav, he was making threats about you!" Her eyes were teary, her voice desperate. She struggled against his grip, but it lacked conviction.  
  
He shrugged. "So? Let him. It wouldn't be the first time anyone has."  
  
"But you're not--"  
  
"I'm not a Mazoku anymore, right. But I'm still a hell of a lot better equipped to deal with him than you are, and I'll be damned if I leave you alone now."  
  
"But he won't hurt me..."  
  
"He's the poster child for the Mazoku race, Filia. I thought you realized that. He'll hurt anyone if it serves his purpose." Valgaav studied her for a moment, brushing her long bangs out of her eyes. "Besides, he's already hurt you, terrorizing you like this."  
  
"I didn't save your life just for you to throw it away," she whispered.  
  
"And I'm not some miscreant who'll leave a female unprotected just because of a little threat." She didn't answer, and he sighed. Cupping her chin, Valgaav brought her head up to look at him. "You had to have some kind of faith in me to start with, if you thought I was worth helping. I'm gonna ask you to have a little more. If Xellos thinks I'll make an easy target, he's got another think comin'."  
  
Filia sighed in weary defeat, her shoulders sagging. Raising his hand to smooth back her hair, Valgaav looked over to his servants, who were standing there in the doorway in silence, watching.  
  
"We'll be staying," he told them. "Jillas, why don't you help Gravos find a place to sleep?"  
  
"My room's big enough," Jillas replied, and beamed happily. He had his family back, and they were staying. That was enough for him. "Wait till you see all I've helped oneesan do!" he told Gravos, grabbing the troll by his arm and leading him away.  
  
"Oneesan?" Gravos asked, confused.  
  
"That's my name for Miss Filia. She says she doesn't like it, but I can tell she really does. There was this time..." Their voices faded as they retreated.  
  
Valgaav looked back down to Filia. "Besides," he said quietly, "there's another reason I'm not leaving."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
He drew in a deep breath. "I missed you," he said quietly, the words coming out in a single, rushed breath.  
  
She started crying then, pressing her hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as she held her breath for a moment, trying to bring the tears under control. "I missed you too," she whispered.  
  
"Aw, Filia..." Closing his eyes, he gently hugged her, resting his chin on her head. "It'll be okay. I promise you that. I'm not letting anything happen to any of you. Not anymore."  
  
She hugged him back tightly. "I really am glad you came back. I was just scared."  
  
"I know."   
  


* * *

  
Watching from his vantage point, Xellos scowled slightly. His little dragon had played the part he had cast her in like a master. Every note was perfection. Every move perfectly choreographed, following his exact direction.  
  
She had reacted to his visit, and to that interloper, exactly as he'd desired.  
  
What he hadn't counted on, though, was Valgaav himself, and that fox-man.  
  
No matter. He had time. Sooner or later, he'd find a way to get rid of Valgaav. He wouldn't kill him. No. Killing him was much too easy. Xellos would find a way to take his dragon back, and let Valgaav suffer.  
  
After all, there was nothing Valgaav could do to him now. And none of them were a match for him.  
  
Smirking at the cottage once more, Xellos returned to Wolf Pack Island.   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	9. Chapter Nine

**Note to Readers:** Sorry it's taken longer than what I try to shoot for with getting new chapters out. Muse got sidetracked and hit me upside the head with an urge to do fanart -- when I DON'T do fanart O.o I rarely draw, and almost never anything other than horses or landscapes, and never anime. But... the muse is demanding I start trying for some fanart for this 'fic. Stupid muse... here's one of the first ones I've done, if any of you are curious: http://zchaos.fanficnetwork.com/zfanart/fa-filia01.jpg  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Nine

  
  
Sipping her tea, Filia stared blankly across the kitchen, partially grateful for the solitude, and partially apprehensive about being left alone. Valgaav had excused himself to see how Gravos was settling in, and Filia's nerves were still too raw for her to be able to turn in.  
  
Still half-expecting for Xellos to show up again at any moment, she clutched her teacup tightly, trying to focus instead on the soothing scent and flavor of her own special blend. The only sound was the light swish her tail made as it brushed over the floor on the lowest point of its sweep as she flicked it back and forth, the motion more subconscious than anything else.  
  
At least it was night. The day was already entirely too long, and she was more than ready for it to be over.  
  
Dimly, she wondered why she was so surprised to see him there. It seemed folly to her to not to have anticipated that Xellos would show up sooner or later. He had a knack for it, it seemed, to never be around when he could actually be useful, and for returning when it was the worst possible time for him to put in an appearance.  
  
Until she met Xellos, Filia had never understood how a saying so innocent as 'may you live in interesting times' could be considered a curse.  
  
_Whoever thought that up probably had that namagomi in mind_.  
  
The worst part of it all was that during their time together on their quest to stop Darkstar's summoning, there were moments -- brief, rare, few and far between, but nevertheless there -- when Filia had actually thought he didn't seem so bad. It scared her to realize that if it were not for her concern for Valgaav's safety, that tiny part of her deep down inside that had thought that maybe Xellos wasn't _quite_ the monster she'd been led to believe would have welcomed his visit.  
  
Logic and common sense argued against that part of her passionately. His behavior tonight had chilled her. He was right, she _had_ forgotten who he was, in a way. Xellos normally seemed so civil, soft-spoken and pleasant it was hard to remember how powerful and deadly he truly was.  
  
He sent such conflicting messages. Like the time he saved her from the falling rocks, only to drop her on her, well, her dignity immediately afterward. He had used her against the Supreme Elder, trying to threaten him, using her for a pawn, saying he would kill her. Xellos didn't make idle threats, yet he had not carried it out when the Supreme Elder dismissed them.  
  
Sudden hot tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered the exchange of words. The sting of them was still fresh. The Supreme Elder hadn't cared that Xellos might kill her. In fact, he had pointed out to the Mazoku that she wasn't even valuable in the scheme of things.  
  
Being so casually disregarded by her own people and tossed aside, being basically told she had little value to them... That wound was still painfully raw.  
  
It wasn't all that hard then to believe what Valgaav had told her about the massacre was true. If the Supreme Elder would turn on her, and she was a Golden too, how easy it must have been for them to turn on another race of Dragon.  
  
Filia closed her eyes, resting her forehead against her palm as she set the cup on the table, her fingers still wrapped around it. The idea of just going to sleep and staying asleep until it was all over held a tremendous appeal. The only problem was, she wasn't sure what 'it' was, exactly. Life, maybe. Or perhaps just the hurting.  
  
"You look exhausted." Valgaav's voice was soft enough not to startle her. "Why don't you turn in?"  
  
"Hmm." She lowered her hand, sitting up a bit more, but still slouched forward in her chair, shoulders slumped. "I will. It's just..." Filia trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.  
  
"It's just what?" He walked over to the table, sitting at an angle from her.  
  
Filia studied her teacup as if she might somehow find the answers within. "This will probably sound crazy, but it just feels like this day's too long to be able to end."  
  
Valgaav was silent for a moment. "You want to go to sleep. You know you should go to sleep. You're exhausted in ways beyond merely physical, but it's like you're afraid to stop and take time to even breathe, that it'll fall apart somehow if you do?"  
  
She closed her eyes tightly against the burning sting as tears began to form, nodding silently. After a moment, she exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "Had days like that, then."  
  
"It's not going to fall apart if you go to bed, Filia."  
  
"I know." She finished off her tea, and looked out the darkened window. "Does it ever get easier? Does it end?"  
  
"Does what?"  
  
She looked down, trying to figure out what she was asking. "Everything, I guess. I don't know. Life, pain, loss, days like these..." Valgaav didn't answer. Closing her eyes, Filia bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "That was--"  
  
"A damn good question," he replied, cutting her off. "I'm just not sure how to answer it either." Filia glanced over at him. Valgaav was studying his hands intently, frowning a bit. It was a long time before he spoke again. "I don't think it does, no."  
  
She turned her head away, tears spilling down her cheeks as she closed her eyes. Pain, she was sure she could deal with. It was the endlessness she wasn't sure how to handle.  
  
"Mind if I ask what brought this on?"  
  
Filia concentrated on breathing, considering her words. "Xellos was going to kill me," she said softly. She could feel Valgaav's gaze suddenly snap to her.  
  
"When?" His tone was sharp.  
  
"Back...before." She shrugged. "He wanted the Supreme Elder to lower the shield around Galvayra. He took me hostage as a pawn." Filia hesitated as Valgaav growled softly. "It didn't work. He -- the Supreme Elder -- didn't care." Her voice cracked, dropping to a hoarse whisper. "I've known him as long as I can remember, and he basically told Xellos I'm worthless."  
  
Valgaav snarled. "He was a fool." Hearing that didn't make her feel any better. He stood, rounding the table to stand beside her, gently pulling her arms to make her get to her feet. "Come on. You're exhausted, and your nerves are frayed. That's never going to help anything."  
  
He was right; the idea of going to sleep was terrifying. She couldn't shake the impression that if she did, she'd lose what precious little control she still held, and the earth itself might spin out from underneath her. Struggling for reasons not to turn in, Filia looked around and reached for her teacup. "I need to--"  
  
"Leave it. I'll take care of it." Valgaav pulled her away from the table. "Come on. And one other thing. We're switching rooms."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're taking the bedroom," he told her. Filia started to stammer out protests, each one only half-forming before a new one bubbled over. "Filia, knock it off. You're not going to win this discussion, so just give in now."  
  
She fell silent then, letting him lead her down the hall, lacking the energy to protest. Sinking down on the bed, she hugged herself as he lit the lamp on the bedside table. A sense of drained lethargy was starting to replace the pain, but it wasn't a better state. Just a different one. When it finally sank in that he was standing there, just watching her, she looked up.  
  
After a few seconds, Valgaav gave her a tiny smile that brought back the look he gave her toward the end, before the whole situation with Darkstar came to a head. There was something in that smile that opened the window somehow, giving her the faintest of glimpses of how she thought he might have been all those years ago, before his world came to a halt, the way hers recently had.  
  
"Get some rest," he said, in a voice so soft she wasn't quite sure if she actually heard him, or just read his lips. The click of the door as it shut heralded the stillness that settled over the room, left unbroken until she finally rose from the bed, changing into her nightgown.   
  


* * *

  
Now if he were only able to follow his own advice.  
  
Filia's tea things had been washed and put away, but there wasn't much to do. Her kitchen was always so tidy to begin with, and by then, he already knew where everything went. It was doubtful it would ever change, not without a good reason. All dragons had an urge to form a hoard, but the life she'd led before hadn't contributed to building a normal one, of gold or other riches.  
  
Valgaav wasn't even certain if she were aware of it, but her teacups and pots served in that stead. She picked out the ones for her personal use with the utmost care, and kept them in their own cupboard, each set having its exact, specific spot, and all the pieces arranged just so.  
  
It wasn't hard to tell where the teapot and cup belonged, and just a quick glance to the others told him how to position the handles.  
  
After that, he had prowled the house, looking for anything amiss, checking doors and windows to make sure they were locked, memorizing the location of everything. He knew that a locked door wouldn't pose the slightest bit of an obstacle to Xellos, but it still made him feel a bit more secure.  
  
Filia was worried about him, and while there was no lost love between him and that Mazoku, she couldn't, or wouldn't, see the danger she herself was in. Xellos had a vested interest of his own in Filia. Valgaav had seen that before. Maybe it was because he too had once been a Mazoku, but he knew that Filia was in greater jeopardy, if Xellos was interested in her for any purpose.  
  
He was hesitant to turn in for that reason. But at the same time, Valgaav doubted Xellos would put in another appearance that night, because it would be expected of him. Then again, he might know they would feel it's expected, and therefore not expect him to return that night, which would motivate him to do just that.  
  
Valgaav decided if he followed that train of thought in any more circles, he'd get dizzy. That was the problem. Xellos was predictably unpredictable. Valgaav was sure he might be able to second-guess the Mazoku, but the stakes weren't worth the gamble.  
  
He tried to settle down and go to sleep, only to wind up tossing and turning, unable to shake the unsettled feeling that kept harrying him. After an hour or so, he threw in the towel, kicking the covers back and getting up. Raking his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, he walked to the kitchen, his vision long since adjusted to the dark.  
  
Hands braced on the back of a chair, he stared out the window, trying to pull his thoughts, scattered every which way from the aborted attempt at sleep, into some semblance of coherency. Valgaav wondered if Filia was having better luck at getting some rest than he was, and decided it was likely, since he'd neither seen nor heard anything from her in almost three hours.  
  
Hello, paranoia. He hurried down the hall, even while trying to tell himself that he was just jumping at shadows. Opening the door as quietly as he could, Valgaav peeked in, his gaze searching the room before coming to rest on the form on the bed curled up under blankets. Closing his eyes with a sigh of relief, he rested his head against the doorframe, just listening to the almost inaudible sound of her breathing, slow and even in sleep.  
  
Chiding himself for being so easily perturbed, he silently closed the door, returning to the kitchen. It couldn't be helped; his trust factor in Xellos was so low, it was a negative number, and the knowledge that he had been here brought out the worst of his dragon nature. This was his home too, and Xellos was a threat, an intruder. Filia, Jillas, Gravos; they were his family, in a manner of speaking. The only ones left in all of creation who he trusted.  
  
Valgaav regretted letting Darkstar take him then. While it was nice being able to access his dragon body again without any pain, Valgaav wasn't deluding himself into thinking he could face off with Xellos again and pose the same kind of threat as before. His first instinct was to take them all away someplace where they would be safe, but the reality of logic pointed out that up against an astral being such as Xellos, if there _was_ such a place, Valgaav didn't have a clue what it might be.  
  
A sudden, soft sound set every fiber of his being ready for battle, and he spun around, pinning the figure behind him to the wall in a heartbeat before conscious thought could even get a word in edgewise. As his gaze focused on his captive, Valgaav found himself looking into two enormous and quite frightened sapphire eyes.  
  
"Oh, hell," he said softly, relaxing as he let his forehead thunk against the wall.  
  
"Valgaav?" Filia asked, her voice tiny and high.  
  
Stepping back a little, he held her by the shoulders. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"  
  
"No, but...what's wrong?"  
  
He shook his head, letting her go and turned away. "Just reflexes," he told her. Leaning on the table, half-sitting, he crossed his arms, studying her. "I thought you were asleep."  
  
"I just woke up, and really didn't want to fall right back to sleep." She walked over to the fireplace, picking up the poker.  
  
"Dreams?" Valgaav asked, watching her.  
  
Filia just nodded slightly. "Can't sleep either?"  
  
"No," he replied a bit ruefully. She picked up the bucket, reaching for the back door to fetch some water. Finding it locked, Filia gave him a quizzical look.  
  
"It's locked?"  
  
"Yeah," he admitted, feeling just a little sheepish now. "Um, so are all the other doors. Windows too."  
  
Filia looked at him. "Um, Valgaav? A locked door isn't going to keep him out."  
  
"I know," he retorted, feeling a little irritable. "Just...look. Just humor me, all right?" He walked over, taking the bucket from her. "I'll get the water."  
  
"You know, you don't have to stay," she reminded him quietly, following him out into the back.  
  
"What's that?" he asked, starting to prime the pump. "You want me gone?"  
  
"I want you safe!" Filia sighed, stepping back to avoid being splashed by water. "If you're...concerned about Xellos, I understand completely. You don't have to stay here."  
  
"I'm staying right where I am." Valgaav picked up the bucket, pointing to the door to indicate for her to go ahead of him. "It's all of you I'm worried about, and I'm not deserting you."  
  
"But it was you he threatened," Filia replied, pulling the water kettle off the shelf, setting it on the table.  
  
"You obviously don't know the Mazoku very well then," he said, pouring water into the kettle.  
  
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone annoyed as she picked up the kettle, using the poker to swing the iron hanging arm out of the fireplace, and hooked the kettle on it before pushing it back to hang over the embers.  
  
"Are you denying it?"  
  
"Well...no." Her voice was meeker now, and she busied herself with throwing another log into the fireplace, stoking the flames. "Not as such..."  
  
"Trust me, then. If he really wants to come after me, what makes you think I'd be safer if I left? All that we'd accomplish is dividing our strength. No, we're getting through this together, or not at all, all four of us."  
  
She straightened up, adjusting the shawl draped around her shoulders. Silhouetted by the faint glow from the growing fire, her long hair mussed from sleep, it was easy to remember that Filia was just barely older than a child. She was only perhaps about as old as he himself had been when his people were killed, give or take a hundred years.  
  
Their eyes met, and he when he noticed the dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes, she suddenly looked much older. Her expression was so solemn that he briefly wondered if it would even be possible for her to smile again. A momentary chill raced down his spine, bringing with it a conviction that everything was far from over. Thoroughly unsettled by the sensation, he turned away, opening a cupboard.  
  
"Get a cup for me too, when you pick out a set," Valgaav said.  
  
As Filia started to prepare for the tea, he sat at the table, just watching her. Pausing in measuring out the tea leaves, she looked over to him, meeting his eyes. It was only for a moment, for she quickly ducked her head, turning back to her work. Her motions ceased to be practiced and efficient, becoming somewhat flustered.  
  
Valgaav frowned slightly, studying her. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"I...uh, sure, yeah, I'm fine," she stammered, her words quick.  
  
He didn't believe her for a moment. Mulling over possible causes, he watched her as she returned to the fireplace, waiting for the water to finish reaching a boil. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
Filia's gaze snapped up to him, surprised. "No, I'm not. Why?"  
  
"Well, you just seemed a little ruffled just now..."  
  
Even with the orange-red glow of the flames masking things, he could tell her cheeks turned a deep crimson before she looked away. "Ah, I'm just...I, uh..." Filia stammered a moment, then sighed, trying again. "I'm just not accustomed to this."  
  
"What's 'this'?"  
  
She was quiet, considering her words. "It's hard to explain. Living with the three of you, I suppose." Her voice was soft, and difficult to hear over the fire's crackle.  
  
"You never had much of a life outside that temple of yours, did you?"  
  
Filia shook her head. "The prophesy was the first task I'd been given to complete on my own that took me away from the temple."  
  
He just watched her. "And up until recently, the whole world was just black and white to you, I'm guessing?"  
  
"Yeah," she admitted softly.  
  
"Another reason I'm staying."  
  
"What's that?" She looked over to him, leaning on the mantle.  
  
Valgaav quirked a small smile. "The world's not black and white, Filia. It's nothing but various shades of gray. You could use someone watching out for you."  
  
She blushed furiously again, turning her attention back to the kettle. "I'm capable of taking care of myself."  
  
"I don't doubt it for a minute," he replied. "If you had to, I have every confidence you'd find your way around this world somehow or other all on your own. But here's the thing. You don't _have_ to go it alone."  
  
"Please don't feel obligated to me," she murmured. "It was all I had that I could do to try and make amends for the past."  
  
"You said earlier that you missed me."  
  
"I did."  
  
"Those amends got anything to do with that?"  
  
Filia shook her head slightly.  
  
"Why is it you missed me, then?"  
  
"I..." Her voice faltered for a moment. "I like having you around, is all."  
  
"So I'm staying. That's final."  
  
She sighed, but nodded in acquiescence. Reaching for the poker, she pulled the water off the fire, wrapping a towel around the kettle handle and carefully carried it to the counter, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. After setting the kettle aside to cool, she carried the set to the table, sitting across from him.  
  
He watched her as she picked up the teapot, carefully pouring the hot brew into the cups. "Is that why you act so jittery around me sometimes?"  
  
Filia almost spilled the hot tea as she poured it into the cups, not expecting that question. "What do you mean?" she asked carefully.  
  
"The nervousness, blushing, stammering, that time when I was trying to teach you how to build that shelf..."  
  
The teacup rattled on the saucer as she picked it up, her hands shaking as she set it down in front of him.  
  
"Well?" he asked after it became obvious she wasn't going to answer.  
  
"I don't know what you mean."  
  
Valgaav sighed, lacing his fingers together, elbows resting on the table. Propping his chin on the back of his fingers, he looked at her. "Filia, I really don't have any use for games or social niceties. I'd much rather know exactly where I stand. I see you acting nervous, and it could be for any number of reasons. I'd just like to know why."  
  
She didn't answer immediately, sipping her tea, staring at the table. Lowering the cup back to the saucer, she held it between her hands, keeping her eyes lowered. She mumbled a quick reply that he couldn't catch.  
  
"What was that? I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up a little. I can barely hear you, let alone what you're saying."  
  
Filia blushed furiously, ducking her head. "I said, I...ah, I..." She bit her lip. "I guess you could, um, say I...I think, um, that is, uh, I care about you," she whispered, stammering.  
  
Valgaav blinked. Part of him suspected it, but it was certainly nice to have it confirmed with the half-dozen other and less desirable explanations that had been plaguing him, such as her being afraid of him, or still pulling the guilty kicked puppy act, among other things.  
  
She stood so swiftly that he startled a bit, not expecting that. "I'm sorry." Her words were rushed, almost tripping over one another. "I won't bother you with it, I swear. I wasn't even going to say anything."  
  
He could just stare at her incredulously as she busied herself with tidying up an already immaculate kitchen. "Why?" he asked. "You were planning on never saying anything?" Filia nodded slightly. "Okay. Mind if I ask why the hell not?"  
  
She was silent for so long he started to doubt she was planning to answer. Just before he could speak up, she finally did. "Because I didn't want you to leave."  
  
He just looked at her. Females had the oddest thought processes sometimes. "Okay." Valgaav closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, thinking. "And how, pray tell, exactly would telling me you cared about me cause me to leave? I'm not following your logic here." He waited for her to answer.  
  
And waited.  
  
Growing impatient as he finished off his cup, he stood. "Well? Are you going to answer?"  
  
She kept her back to him, staring down at the counter. "Well, you can barely tolerate me as it is..." she whispered.  
  
That effectively rendered him speechless. He just blinked, trying to process what she said. She _still_ believed that? Was he still giving her that impression?  
  
"Forget this conversation ever took place," she muttered, turning on her heel for the door.  
  
That knocked him out of his astonishment, and he quickly stepped over to her, gently grabbing hold of her arm, stopping her from leaving. "Hey, whoa, wait. Filia? Filia, look at me." When she did, her expression was wary, her eyes shuttered. "I..." He trailed off, not sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.  
  
If there was one thing he did know, it was that talk was cheap, in the grand scheme of things. He pulled her closer to him. If his actions had been conveying an appearance that he still held what she was against her, then words wouldn't assuage those concerns. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her gently, one hand lightly resting on the back of her head, holding her to him.  
  
"I...I stopped 'just tolerating' you a long time ago, Filia," he admitted hesitantly as she started to hug him back. "If I haven't made that apparent yet, I'm sorry. That's...this is one of the reasons I'm staying. I don't want anything to happen to you either. Any of you. I don't want to lose anyone else."  
  
She relaxed then, in no hurry to pull away. "I'm sorry, it's just--"  
  
"Part of the problem."  
  
Filia paused, then looked up at him. "Huh?"  
  
"I think that's part of the problem," he replied, looking at her. "Too many apologies between us, and not enough between our people." She looked down, and he moved his hand around to cup her chin. "But here's the thing. They're dead. We're not. As I've said, you're not one of them, and never have been. You don't have anything to make up for." She nodded, closing her eyes, clearly wearied emotionally. "I've got an idea," he said.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"How does starting over sound?"  
  
Filia managed a weak smile, opening her eyes again. "I think I'd like that," she whispered.  
  
He smirked slightly and let go of her, stepping back. "Hi. What's your name?"  
  
She slowly raised an eyebrow, looking at him oddly. "Huh?"  
  
"What's your name?" he repeated, keeping a straight face.  
  
"Wha..? You know my name."  
  
"No, I don't. We've never met, remember?" Then he added, _sotto voce_, "humor me."  
  
She giggled slightly from the absurdity of it. "Filia."  
  
"Filia. Nice name. I'm Valgaav. Nice to meet you."  
  
Filia grinned, chuckling a bit more. "Nice to meet you too, Valgaav."  
  
He crossed his arms, looking around the kitchen. "So. Come here often?" That caused her to start laughing outright. "What? Did I say something funny?" He shot her a confused look.  
  
"Now you're just being silly!" she protested, still laughing.  
  
Valgaav smirked. "And if you tell a soul that, I'll deny it with my last breath."  
  
"You mean you'd lie."  
  
"Like a rug," he replied, not missing a beat. Filia grinned at him.  
  
"Your secret's safe with me, then." She smiled. "I think I'll be able to sleep a little easier now."  
  
"I get the feeling we both will." He watched her as she moved to start putting away the tea things. "Don't forget how to laugh, Filia," he said softly.  
  
She blinked, glancing to him. "I won't," she replied, studying him curiously. "What made you say that?"  
  
"I don't know. Just...something, I guess. Once you forget, it's hard to remember how to do it again."  
  
Her expression grew solemn again for a moment, then she gave him a small smile. "Then I'll just have to work on refreshing your memory."   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	10. Chapter Ten

**Note to Readers:** Gah! I would have had this finished almost two days ago if it weren't for that rabid plot badger that attacked my muse (hence the new songfic, "Insensitive") But between that and thunderstorms keeping me off the computer... I'll try to get back to my more or less once-a-day updating here, but no promises. Anyhoo, thanks for all the encouragement, and hope you like Chapter 10!  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Ten

  
  
Filia shut the door and locked it, turning around. "We survived the first day," she announced, leaning back against the door, wearing a lopsided grin.  
  
"I knew you'd do it, oneesan!" Jillas replied. "You're a success!"  
  
"A busy opening day is hardly a good gauge for success," she said.  
  
"Maybe not, but all these coins here from the sales and this list of custom orders is," Valgaav told her.  
  
"We'll see how much money's left after I restock my supplies." Then she laughed, hugging herself and reveling in the thrill. "But they liked my work!"  
  
"Once Jillas and me finish making that forge, we'll have another draw for customers," Gravos reminded her.  
  
"I still think that's odd," Filia said. "Selling tea things and weapons in the same store? But I like the idea."  
  
Valgaav leaned on the counter, grinning at her slightly. "That's because it's you. Teacup in one hand, that mace from hell in the other."  
  
Filia laughed again, feeling absolutely giddy from the rush of the day. "I couldn't have done all this without your help," she told them, then hugged Jillas. "Especially yours. You did such a wonderful job on that kiln."  
  
Jillas practically melted from the praise, staring at her in open adoration. "Anything for you, oneesan."  
  
"I don't know about the rest of you, but making money has made me hungry. Who's up for some supper?" Filia asked, and got an unanimous response in the affirmative. "All right. Valgaav, Jillas? Could you two please restock the shelves for tomorrow while it's still light? Gravos, you can help me get supper ready."  
  
She helped him fill two large pots with water, and while he set one in the fireplace and stoked the flames higher, she began mixing the batter for the biscuits. Gravos lit the second fire that heated the small oven, and once it was sufficiently heated, Filia dropped the batter on a tray and put it in.  
  
"What's next?"  
  
"Could you get some of that venison and dice it up for me?" Filia asked, opening the larder and selecting some vegetables. He went out back to the icebox, returning with a slab of meat.  
  
"This what you wanted?"  
  
"Perfect." She flashed him a grin while she washed the potatoes in the second pot of water.  
  
"Shop's stocked," Valgaav announced, walking in, then grinned at her, adding, "and waiting for you to sneak in there when you think we're not looking and fuss over how everything's arranged."  
  
Filia blushed. "Can I help it if I'm picky about my teacups?"  
  
He chuckled, picking up a slice of venison Gravos had just cut. "Jillas is putting the money and the custom order list on your desk."  
  
Filia nodded, then blinked at him as he bit into the uncooked meat. "That's...not cooked yet!" He nodded, chewing. "That's nasty!"  
  
Valgaav peered at her for a moment, then swallowed. "We're dragons, Filia."  
  
"So? I can't believe you like eating raw meat."  
  
Valgaav and Gravos exchanged a look, and Valgaav suddenly started coughing, the fit subsiding into chuckles while Gravos smirked widely.  
  
Filia shot them a suspicious look. "What?"  
  
"Nothing," they both said at once.  
  
"Valgaav, what is so funny?"  
  
"Nothing, Filia."  
  
"Gravos, tell me, or you're not getting any supper!"  
  
"That threat would work if I thought you'd actually see it through," Gravos retorted, grinning at her.  
  
Filia scowled. "You two are laughing at me! Tell me why!"  
  
"We're not laughing _at_ you, Filia," Valgaav assured her. Then he grinned. "We're laughing _near_ you."  
  
Frustrated, she stomped her foot. "What is so funny about you eating raw meat?"  
  
All that did was send both males into unsuccessful attempts to smother their laughter. Valgaav smirked at her. "You'll find out when you're older."  
  
Giving him an indignant glare, she threw a potato at him, which he caught with ease. "You're a jerk," she said. "Both of you." Valgaav just grinned at her as he started cutting up the vegetable.  
  
"You could always give her a demonstration, Lord Valgaav," Gravos said, his tone casual as he carried the chopped venison over to the pot.  
  
The knife almost slipped in Valgaav's hand, and he shot Gravos a wide-eyed look of disbelief. Filia studied his face, noting the faint hint of a blush that appeared on his cheeks, and she blinked.  
  
"This conversation has a hentai meaning, doesn't it?" she screeched, glaring at them both.  
  
"I didn't say a _thing_!" Valgaav protested.  
  
"I'm just trying to be helpful!" Gravos added.  
  
Giving them both an evil look, Filia snorted softly and resumed chopping potatoes. "Baka hentai males," she muttered.   
  


* * *

  
"How're we doing?"  
  
Filia looked up from her paperwork to see Valgaav standing by her desk, holding a tray with a fresh pot of tea.  
  
"You looked like you could use a refill," he told her, setting the tray down and clearing away the now-empty pot she had been using.  
  
"Yeah, thanks." She gave him a tired smile and stretched her back slightly as he poured her a cup.  
  
"How's the day's profit looking?" he asked.  
  
With a sigh, Filia set her pencil down and looked at the columns of figures. "Honestly? Rather dismal. But that's partially because I have to pay off the tabs that we were running at the supply shop and market. If we keep up these sales, though, we should be turning a profit by next week."  
  
"Are these the bills?" he asked, hitching his leg up to sit on the corner of the desk, picking up a stack of papers.  
  
"Yeah. I'm going to go pay them off tomorrow."  
  
"Want me to do it for you?"  
  
"Would be nice." She handed him another sheet of paper. "There's what I've figured out for what we have so far. We don't have nearly enough to pay them all off right now, so I've divided up the money and figured out who gets how much. The rest of it goes to getting the supplies for the special orders. I don't have all the right colors of paints we need for them."  
  
"Where do I find them?"  
  
"Just give this list to the supply shop clerk. She'll take care of it," Filia answered, handing over yet another sheet of paper.  
  
Valgaav nodded, shuffling them together then set them aside. "What's that you're working on?"  
  
"I'm trying to plan out a budget." Filia made a face. "It'll be hard keeping our heads above water."  
  
"Filia, relax. We're doing fine. Your shop's gonna be a success. I can feel it." When she looked up at him, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Now, why don't you put that aside for now? It won't go anywhere, and you have the bills worked out already. Time to wind down. It's been a long day."  
  
"What time is it, anyway?" she asked, picking up her teacup, sipping it slowly.  
  
"I heard the bells chiming out the tenth hour a bit ago. It's probably half-past by now."  
  
"Already? Where did the evening go?" Filia closed her eyes, sighing ruefully. "I'm not sure how I'm going to keep up this pace. When will I find the time to work on the orders, and make new merchandise?"  
  
"You've already got a good head start with everything you've done so far. The last few batches will be ready for painting soon, and then they can be fired. We can set up your workstation behind the counter, move away some of the shelves. That way, you can work while you tend the shop," he suggested.  
  
"Pottery work's very messy, though."  
  
Valgaav smirked. "You think your customers will complain? You'll be messy from making more things for them to buy."  
  
"Well, yes, but I don't like looking that bad."  
  
"You couldn't look bad if--"  
  
She glanced at him as he abruptly cut himself off. Valgaav looked away and stood, walking over to the opposite wall, staring out the window.  
  
"If what?" she asked.  
  
He hesitated, turning his head in her direction slightly, eyes downcast. "If you tried."  
  
Filia stared at him as her mind patched together the broken sentence, then smiled softly, feeling her cheeks growing warm. "Thank you."  
  
There was silence for a few moments, then he cleared his throat. "I haven't seen any indication he's been around, have you?"  
  
She didn't have to ask who he meant. "No. To be honest, though, I was fully anticipating him showing up today."  
  
Valgaav chuckled. "You too? Tell me you suspected Widow Burkely at first?"  
  
"The way she walks around with her eyes looking like they're closed? Definitely. If Jillas hadn't told me she's actually a well-established figure here in town, I just might have thrown her out." Filia winced. "Which would have done nothing good for my business."  
  
"Maybe he'll be staying away."  
  
Filia just looked at him. "Gee, do you have a magical beanstalk to sell with that?"  
  
"I didn't sound as convincing as I hoped, did I?"  
  
"Not really, no." Filia poured herself some more tea. "Although, truth be told, I'm wishing he _would_ show up, just to get this over with. It's been two weeks now, and I'm getting tired of waiting."  
  
"That's probably part of his game plan," Valgaav said, scowling.  
  
"I'm never owning a cat."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I think I can empathize with the mouse right now."  
  
Valgaav glanced at her, then walked over, standing behind her chair and resting his hands on her shoulders. "We'll be fine, Filia. All of us. Trust me."  
  
"It's not you I don't trust, Valgaav. It's him."  
  
"I know."  
  
Filia closed her eyes as his fingers began to lightly kneed the tension from her shoulders. "You make good tea," she said quietly, holding the cup inches from her lips between her hands.  
  
"I just added the water. It's your blend."  
  
"Still..." Filia fell silent, lowering her hands to the desk, setting the cup down. His fingers continued to work over her shoulders, easing the knots out of the muscles. "That feels nice," she admitted quietly. "It's been feeling lately like somebody's worked me over with my own mace."  
  
Valgaav chuckled. "I'm not surprised, from what I've seen of you these last two weeks. Jillas said that's pretty much the pace you've been keeping."  
  
"Yeah." She paused to stretch slightly. "We need to get this shop off the ground and solvent, and soon."  
  
"We'll manage it," he assured her. "It's strange, though."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Just...having to worry about material things, like food, supplies, money."  
  
"Same here. I lived in the temple all my life. We don't, that is, we didn't have much in the way of material possessions, but we didn't want for anything either." Filia bit her lip, wincing. "I'm sorry."  
  
His hands stilled for a moment. "Whatever for?"  
  
"For bringing them up..."  
  
He was still for a moment, then his hand came up to smooth back her hair. "You didn't. You were talking about how your life was before. Frankly, I'm impressed that you're doing so well with managing the finances. It doesn't sound like you had much of a reason for that before."  
  
Filia smiled ruefully, leaning back against him. "I didn't. It's amazing what you can learn when you have to. I've had to learn more in this last year, since I first wound up with Lina and her friends, than I ever did in the last five hundred."  
  
"For a dragon, a few months is as good as overnight."  
  
She nodded. "I think back to how I was, sometimes, and it's like I don't know her. She's someone else, a stranger to me. That day I first met them, it wasn't even a year ago, but it feels like a lifetime."  
  
"In a way, it was."  
  
"Yeah," she whispered. "It was." They were both silent for a few long heartbeats. "You know what it's like, though, don't you? To grow up overnight, to feel like you're in a world that's a very warped mirror image of the one you knew."  
  
"I do," he said softly. "So do Gravos and Jillas."  
  
Her heart swelled rapidly to the point where it grew too full to hold everything it was feeling, and before she could try to contain them, tears spilled out of her eyes, splashing against her arms. It was a mixture of so many things, it was overwhelming. Grief, loss, pain, fatigue, they were there, but she was also used to them by now. The proverbial straw was the realization that she wasn't alone. Her head had understood it, and now her heart finally did.  
  
"Filia?" his voice was soft, worried, as he moved around to crouch by her chair, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face to look at her. "What is it?"  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologized, trying to wipe away the tears, but they were falling too fast to try to keep up with them. "It's just...I'm just..." She stammered a few more times, trying to put what she was feeling into words. "It's...not feeling alone anymore," she managed to say, her voice cracking in spite of her attempts to keep it steady.  
  
"Been there," he told her, and hesitated before pulling her into a hug. Filia clung to him, crying more from relief than anything else. After a few minutes, they began to slow down enough for her to make an effort to wipe them away, and she drew back slightly.  
  
"Thank you," Filia whispered. He gave her a small smile, that tiny little expression she'd come to love so much, that always seemed to hint to her what he might have been like, a gentler person, perhaps, before everything was taken from him. As she studied him though, that expression gradually changed into something she couldn't quite place. Her own smile faded as she began to feel curiously self-conscious of every breath she took.  
  
Her heart started to beat faster, her mouth felt dry, and a warm sensation spread up her nerves, originating from where his hands rested on her forearms. Filia blushed faintly from the curious feeling of hyper-awareness as she looked in his eyes, but as she tried to break the gaze, it only moved to his lips. Her face began to feel warmer, and she quickly looked back up to his eyes, only to have a curious, fluttering feeling low in her stomach when she saw he was watching her mouth. Before she realized what she was doing, she licked her lips to try to alleviate the dryness. Blushing even more furiously, her gaze dropped to her lap as she bit her lip.  
  
A tingling sensation raced through her nerves as his fingertips brushed her forehead, tucking her hair behind a slender, tapered ear. Lifting her gaze back to him once more, they both held position, just watching one another.  
  
Filia didn't know who moved first. Maybe they both did. But one moment they were staring at one another, and the next, she closed her eyes as his lips brushed lightly over hers. The fluttering sensation in her stomach not only increased tenfold, but moved up to seize her heart as well. As he started to draw back, Filia felt like she was no longer in control of her actions as she followed, kissing him back.  
  
His hand slipped down around her neck, under her hair, his touch both cool and warm at once, holding her to him gently. Her hands found their way to his shoulders as their lips met again, this time with more a more definite contact. The kiss was slow and tender, shy and questioning, and the way he rested his other hand against her cheek, delicately framing her face, stole the air from her lungs as her heart melted.  
  
But it wasn't enough to completely quell the nervousness, the sense that her world was spinning even more out of control than it had been to start with. Trembling, she drew back slightly, their lips mere inches apart, her eyes meeting his once more.  
  
"What are we doing?" she whispered, tremulous and weak.  
  
He didn't answer right away, then managed a tiny, lopsided smile. "I think the correct answer to that would be 'kissing'."  
  
She chuckled quietly, briefly, out of anxiety. "We're changing everything. If we keep going, nothing will be the same between us anymore."  
  
Valgaav gently brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Is that what you want?" he asked. "For things to stay the same?"  
  
"No, I..." She trailed off, thinking for a moment. "I don't want to lose you."  
  
"Filia." He cupped the side of her face in his hand, and chuckled nervously. "I've lost too many people I've let get close to me already. However it goes, you won't lose me."  
  
She nodded slightly, then half-smiled as she looked down, but not from amusement. "I'm scared," Filia admitted softly.  
  
He hesitated. "Of what? Me?"  
  
"Not of you, no," Filia replied, giving her head a little shake. "Of changing things. Everything's already changed so much, it's...I'm just scared."  
  
He pulled her close, and she buried her face against his neck, holding onto him tightly. "Don't be," he told her softly. "There's no rush to change anything. We've got all the time in the world."   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	11. Chapter Eleven

**Note to Readers:** Just a 411, you can receive author update alerts for me now, if you want. I'm so glad you're all enjoying reading this. I'm enjoying writing it. ^_^ I can't wait till I get to the angsty stuff. Angst makes for bouncy, hyper Zannes. ::cackles gleefully::  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Eleven

  
  
Filia was seriously contemplating figuring how to blend a stronger tea. The bells at the nearby shrine had chimed out the eleventh hour, and already she was considering how nice sleep sounded. Instead, she forced herself to remain on her feet, smile for the customers, and help them with their purchases.  
  
Sleep had not been very easy to obtain, and she finally drifted off just a mere hour before her day was scheduled to begin as the air outside her window began to lighten under the gray glow of false dawn, which heralded the impending arrival of the sun. Her mind was restless, turning over and examining the details of the kiss, the reactions it evoked, and her feelings for Valgaav.  
  
She knew she cared for him, that much was dead certain. Filia could even admit to herself that it was love, even if she wasn't certain how to define it. Was it a romantic love, or something less complicated? Thinking back over her reactions to him, she supposed that she was in fact attracted to him, the way a mere smile could leave her breathless and do odd little things to her heart.  
  
No, she wasn't all that confused about her own feelings, and she was even reasonably certain that Valgaav cared for her in return, as unreal as logic would have it seem.  
  
What bothered her the most was the uncertainty over whether or not it was a mistake. Filia had never played the game herself, but neither was she completely without a clue as to the risks. The more Filia thought about it, the more positive she was that Valgaav was the closest thing she had to a best friend.  
  
The risks of jeopardizing that friendship with something more terrified her.  
  
Everything kept replaying over in her mind, and that along with her own tumultuous emotions had not served to be conductive to a good night's rest. Of course, now that she was supposed to be awake and coherent, exhaustion was taking its toll and making her bed look more appealing by the minute.  
  
She wondered if Valgaav was faring any better, and a tiny, petulant voice inside hoped he was at least as distracted as she. Not only would it mean she wasn't suffering through her fatigue alone, but it would also mean it affected him just as much.  
  
A tug at her sleeve snapped her out of her thoughts.  
  
"Oneesan? Hello?"  
  
Filia looked down at Jillas, realizing a customer was standing there, and he was holding a set. "What is it, Jillas?" she asked, trying not to blush.  
  
"Are you okay, oneesan?"  
  
She gave up trying not to blush. "Oh, um, yes, I am, I'm sorry. I didn't sleep very well last night. What may I help you with?"  
  
"She'd like to know if you could make this set in rose pink instead," Jillas said, holding up the display tray.  
  
Filia blinked, picking up one of the delicate, floral-patterned teacups, inspecting it. "I believe I may already have a set like what you're looking for in stock, miss, unless it's already been sold." She glanced to Jillas.  
  
He shook his head. "If we still have it, it's not on the floor."  
  
"Okay, I'll go in the storeroom and look. Jillas, could you take down the details for a special order in case we don't have it?"  
  
"Sure thing, oneesan. Right this way, miss."  
  
While the young woman followed Jillas, Filia headed for the back room to look for the set in question. Lighting a lamp, she ducked into the room, which was really more of a large, walk-in closet with shelves, and started checking in various boxes. Although the lamp provided some measure of light, she frowned in annoyance when someone stood in the doorway, cutting back even more on her visibility.  
  
"Might I ask how much this lovely vase costs?"  
  
Filia stood up so quickly that she hit her head on a higher shelf, and almost dropped the lamp.  
  
"Oh, dear! Miss Filia, are you quite all right? That sounded as if it must have hurt."  
  
"What are you doing here?" she gasped.  
  
"I had a bit of free time, so I thought I'd drop by to see how things were going, perhaps do a bit of shopping." Xellos smiled cheerfully, and held up the vase. "Lord Beastmaster would appreciate this. She broke her last one."  
  
"Just take it and get out, namagomi," Filia said, backing away from him. She switched hands with the lamp to reach under her skirts for her mace.  
  
Xellos frowned. "Oh, no, my dear Miss Filia, I couldn't possibly do that. You worked so hard on this vase, indeed, on everything in this little shop. It would be such a shame if they were to be broken." His lips curled into a cheerful smile, but his eyes opened slightly. "Such as by a dragon on a rampage. It wouldn't be very good for business, now, would it?"  
  
Filia gritted her teeth, forcing herself to let go of the mace's handle. The room was so narrow the shelves on the opposite sides almost touched her shoulders. There was no way she could hit him without destroying anything. "What do you want?"  
  
"How wonderful! You're learning how to be reasonable." He stepped in, walking toward her, and the door swung shut behind him. The lamp in her hand was the only source of light now, and Filia mentally pleaded that Gravos or Jillas had seen Xellos.  
  
But if they had, they likely ran out to find Valgaav, and if he showed up...  
  
Filia changed her tune quickly, hoping no one noticed them.  
  
"I did say I would be back, Miss Filia." He turned his attention from her, appearing to study the merchandise on the shelves. "So, tell me, has that Mazoku half-breed been around to bother you?"  
  
"No," Filia stammered, then bit her tongue. "No, I haven't seen him."  
  
Xellos looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his lips curling into a smirk. "I am quite pleased to hear that." Turning to face her, he walked toward her slowly. "You do know that I would not wish to see harm come to my little dragon."  
  
Filia fought down a growl. "I'm not your little dragon. I'm not your little anything."  
  
He gave her a cryptic smile that turned her blood to ice, and wrapped his hand over hers, holding the lamp. The flame flickered and died, plunging them both into darkness.  
  
Xellos withdrew his hand, taking the lamp from her, and she could feel him. He wasn't close enough to touch her, but she could sense he was there, watching her. The darkness was thick, oppressive, and it grew so hard to breathe from the fear and uncertainty of what would come next.  
  
"Okay, namagomi," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as quivery as it felt. "I've had enough of your games."  
  
There was no response, no sound at all save for the occasional voice from the shop beyond the door. Filia wasn't even certain as the minutes passed if he was really still there, or if her mind was playing tricks on her. She tried to work up the nerve to reach out, to step forward, but couldn't. She felt paralyzed in fear, and couldn't shake what her intuition was telling her, that to move forward now would be bad. Filia couldn't pin down why, she just had the impression it would be.  
  
"Stop it. Just leave me alone." There was a definite tremor in her voice that even she could hear now. The darkness was deep enough to hurt her eyes as she tried vainly to see something, anything.  
  
Nothing but darkness.  
  
More minutes ticked by.  
  
Filia's heart lodged in her throat, suffocating her as she jumped, suddenly feeling his gloved hand against her cheek, his touch whisper-soft, and then it was gone.  
  
The next thing she knew, she was squinting against a light that now seemed blinding as the door was jerked open quickly. Forms of beings, backlit and not immediately identifiable, crowded in the doorway. On reflex, Filia skittered back even further, pressing up against the wall.  
  
"Filia! What happened?" Valgaav demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders. Recognizing his voice did nothing to calm her as she started looking around frantically, expecting Xellos to attack at any minute.  
  
"Don't worry about him!" He gave her shoulders a little shake. "Talk to me. Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm...fine," she managed weakly.  
  
"I saw that Mazoku come in here," Jillas said, as Valgaav started checking her quickly for any injuries, "and sent Boss to find Lord Valgaav." The fox-man growled. "Did he hurt you, oneesan?"  
  
"N-no, he didn't do anything. Can we get out of here, please?"  
  
Valgaav paused. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
"Kitchen maybe? Just want out of here."  
  
"Oh! You mean the closet. Come on. Jillas, Gravos, tend to the shop."  
  
"Sure thing, Lord Valgaav."  
  
Filia ignored the curious stares as Valgaav led her from the shop and to a chair at the table in the kitchen. Immediately, he set about putting some water on to boil and preparing some tea for her while Filia tried to relax, resting her head in her hands.  
  
There was a scrape of wood on wood as Valgaav dragged a chair out in front of her and sat down while the water boiled, and took her hands. "Filia, what happened in there?"  
  
"Nothing much, really," she admitted. "He startled me, asked me how much a vase cost, asked if you'd been around--"  
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
"That I hadn't seen you, of course," Filia replied, looking at him.  
  
Valgaav frowned, but nodded slightly. "Go on."  
  
"He called me his little dragon, and I reminded him I wasn't his little anything. All he did then was give me a creepy little smile, his eyes were open then, and oh, the door was shut by that point, and he took the lamp from me and put it out."  
  
Valgaav growled; a low, incensed sound that made Filia jittery. "What then?" he pressed, gritting out the question, his teeth clenched.  
  
"Um, nothing."  
  
"Filia."  
  
"I mean it! He didn't do anything! I was pretty sure he was still there, but he didn't say anything and he wasn't standing close enough to touch, I don't know. I didn't try feeling around in the dark to find out, and just before you showed up, he touched my face." Filia reached a quivering hand out to Valgaav to demonstrate.  
  
Valgaav stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, growling softly. Filia swallowed hard, pressing up against the back of the chair.  
  
"Um, Valgaav, the water's boiling..."  
  
He ignored it. "How long?"  
  
"Huh? What do you mean, how long?"  
  
"How long between when he touched you from when I opened the door?"  
  
"I'm not sure. It felt like less than a minute. A few seconds at the most."  
  
Valgaav's gaze turned furious, and she shivered involuntarily. Nothing happened for several heartbeats, then he moved so abruptly she flinched. Valgaav rose from the chair and wheeled about in a single, smooth motion, and there was something distinctly predatory in his manner as he stalked over to the fireplace, fetching the water to pour into the teapot. Filia swallowed hard, chewing her bottom lip nervously.  
  
"I'm sorry..?"  
  
"Don't."  
  
The curtness in his tone made her wince. Filia didn't look up as he set the tea beside her on the table.  
  
"I'm gonna go speak with Jillas and Gravos. Stay here. If he comes back, let us know. I don't care if you have to go dragon and rip through the roof, just do _something_."  
  
Filia gave him a small nod, staring at her tightly clasped hands.   
  


* * *

  
Valgaav stalked out of the kitchen, focusing on keeping his rage in check. He had always been territorial, but since regaining his draconian nature in full, territorial was putting it mildly. The house was his cave, and there was an intruder. Gravos, Jillas and Filia were his family, and they were threatened.  
  
As he entered the shop, the few customers who were still there froze, staring at him wide-eyed as he approached, then immediately cleared out as soon as he continued past. The only reason they were still able to move while he was in sight was because he wasn't in dragon form; otherwise, the dragon fear from the predatory aggression he was radiating would have caused all rational thought to disperse.  
  
Jillas and Gravos stared at him, and Jillas' motions were jittery. They were used to his temper, but the effects of a draconian rage was enough to make them nervous. Gripping the countertop, Valgaav forced himself to rein it in a bit.  
  
"Well, he's tipped his hand," Valgaav growled. "At least, I think he has."  
  
"What do you mean, Lord Valgaav?" Gravos asked quietly.  
  
He snarled. "I suspect he still plans to try and get to me, but the route he's going to take is through her." Gravos and Jillas exchanged looks.  
  
"Oneesan's in danger?" Jillas asked.  
  
"More than she realizes, I'd wager. He's toying with her. I know enough about Mazoku to recognize what he's doing. He's got some kind of interest in her, and that's _never_ a good thing where a Mazoku's involved."  
  
Gravos swore under his breath. "So what're we gonna do about it?"  
  
Valgaav hesitated. "Right now? All we can do is for one of us to be with her at all times. Twice now he's gotten to her. Each time she was alone."  
  
"Err, not to mince details, but, isn't she alone right now?" Jillas asked.  
  
"I didn't want her to hear this. Besides, I'm pretty certain he's not coming back immediately." Valgaav frowned, starting to pace. "He can't use his powers without Beastmaster's approval. His orders were to either get me to throw in my lot with the other Mazoku, and failing that, to kill me. I'm no longer Mazoku, and he's no longer trying to kill me. I'm guessing his orders may have changed."  
  
"Maybe he don't know where ya are?" Gravos suggested.  
  
Valgaav just looked at him. "He left just a few moments before I reached the closet. He knows damn good and well where I am, but he's avoiding confrontation."  
  
"And instead, he's messing with oneesan," Jillas growled.  
  
"Right." Valgaav snarled and clenched his fists, trying not to go on a rampage and break everything in sight. "So, here's the game plan. At least one of us will either keep her in sight, or otherwise close tabs on her whereabouts as much as possible at all times."  
  
Jillas blinked, his ears going back in a meek expression. "But...what about...certain times, you know?" he stammered. "Like...well, privacy-oriented times?"  
  
Valgaav pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Naturally, we wouldn't actually keep her in sight then. Just have a reasonable knowledge of her whereabouts."  
  
"Should we take turns keeping watch at night?" Gravos asked.  
  
"I was thinking that too. I'll figure out a reasonable schedule. Do we want to take full nights in rotation, or all of us keeping watch few hours a night?"  
  
"Better to break up the nights into individual watches," Jillas said, "that way there's less chance of us being overtired, or falling asleep on watch."  
  
"Yeah. I'll take the first watch of the night, who wants the second?"  
  
"Jillas can have that, I'm an early riser anyway," Gravos said, "so I'll take third, and get breakfast started for Filia."  
  
"Lord Valgaav?"  
  
"Yeah, Jillas?"  
  
"What do we do if he shows up?"  
  
Valgaav paused. "Get me. But I'm banking on the possibility that he won't, not as long as someone's keeping an eye on her."   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	12. Chapter Twelve

**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Twelve

  
  
Filia felt like she was going to lose her mind, if she hadn't already. Ever since Xellos had trapped her in the storeroom almost two weeks prior, at least one of her three housemates were underfoot every time she turned around. For Jillas, being underfoot turned out to be a literal condition, and it happened often enough that Filia had finally let him have it, which only sent Jillas running off, wailing.  
  
Valgaav had lost his temper, yelling at her for upsetting Jillas, and Filia's nerves were rubbed raw enough that she happily got into a shouting match with him. That resulted in Gravos having to actually take on the role of peacemaker and separate them before the shouting match escalated into anything more destructive.   
  
Filia had started to walk away from that argument until she overheard Valgaav mutter under his breath, wondering if dragon females were as susceptible to monthly mood swings as humans. The unpainted, dried pitcher she'd been carrying was instantly airborne.   
  
Valgaav had very active reflexes, she discovered.   
  
It took two days for Jillas to quit following Filia around meekly like a whipped puppy trying to earn favor again, for Valgaav and Filia to quit glaring at each other, and for Gravos to happily abandon the peacekeeper position he'd found himself stuck with unwillingly.   
  
It hadn't taken Filia long to discover that the only place where they didn't try to follow her was into the washroom. Not long after that, she also discovered long, hot baths at the end of each day were the perfect remedy for her tired shoulders, sore feet, stiff back, and frayed nerves.   
  
And any baka, hentai namagomi who tried to intrude on her while she was in the tub would be a very dead namagomi _very_ quickly.   
  
It didn't help matters one bit that Valgaav's interest in her -- if he even had any to start with -- appeared to have waned. While he was still the most persistent of her three shadows, the tender displays of affection, even as rare as they had been, appeared to have come to a screeching halt. Filia didn't want to admit to it, but it hurt, especially because she couldn't quite figure out why. If it was because of what she had said, well, she had tried to correct that the day before last, he had quickly excused himself with obscure muttering over things he had to go do.   
  
Filia didn't know what else to try. The idea of a romantic liaison still felt foreign to her. The priests and priestesses were expected to remain chaste and pure, not letting carnal longings interfere with their service. If they were mated, it was because the elders had voted to allow it, and a similarly worthy dragon of the opposite sex would then be chosen as well, the pairing arranged. Such a mating of convenience allowed for new generations of dragons while curbing lustful urges.   
  
Of course, these were the same elders, for the most part, who had chosen to, and even participated in the destruction of Valgaav's people. The Supreme Elder himself had thrown her away like...namagomi. Raw garbage. They were wrong about that, and perhaps wrong that the longings she felt were base and sinful. As she would think back to the kiss, Filia couldn't see how something so tender and caring could possibly be wrong.   
  
She wasn't a priestess anymore. There was no one of her sect left, no shrine. Indeed, she had been cast aside by them as well. Still, it was hard, wrestling against the guilt borne from several centuries of having such strict dogma pounded into her brain. Filia would work it out on her own time, she decided, and deal with it when it became an issue. She dared not speak of it to Valgaav, for no other reason than not wanting to mention her sect, or the elders, to him if at all avoidable.   
  
Finished with her nightly, relaxing bath, Filia pulled her robe over her nightgown, tightening the sash before removing the towel which had held her long hair out of the water. Opening the door, she half-expected to trip over one of them as usual, and to her relief, the hallway was clear. As she walked to her room, she overheard voices in the kitchen, and stealthily crept closer, eavesdropping.   
  
"We are not going to tell her," Valgaav was saying, and Filia frowned. Tell her what? "It will just upset her and make her worse than she is."   
  
_Worse than I am?_ Filia growled under her breath. _Well, I never!_   
  
"Uh, beggin' pardon and all that, Lord Valgaav, but truth be told, I can't quite figure how she can be worse than she already is."   
  
Filia instantly had cheerful mental visuals of her mace being introduced to Gravos.   
  
"I have to agree with Boss, Lord Valgaav," Jillas said, and Filia blinked. Her faithful little fox-man was agreeing? Of all the nerve! She'd been the very soul of understanding and tolerance ever since they all became secondary shadows.   
  
Jillas was still speaking. "Telling her what's going on might make her a little easier to keep an eye on."   
  
"And besides, if ya don't," Gravos said, "I might gotta play at keepin' everything peaceable-like here again, and me keepin' the peace? Ain't natural, if I do say so myself."   
  
Filia heard Valgaav chuckle softly. "Point there. But I'm still not convinced telling her's the right thing to do. I don't want to scare her."   
  
Filia had heard quite enough. "Well, you don't have a say in this anymore," Filia announced, stepping through the doorway. All three of them jumped guiltily and looked at her.   
  
"How long have you been there?" Valgaav demanded.   
  
"Long enough. So what's this big secret you boys are keeping? Hmm?" She crossed her arms, tapping her slippered foot on the floor as she fixed them all with a glare.   
  
They all immediately began to fidget, looking elsewhere.   
  
"Does every female got that ability for that look no matter the species?" Gravos asked Valgaav quietly.   
  
"Apparently," Valgaav muttered, scratching the back of his head as he studied the floor. "Look, Filia--"   
  
"Don't you 'look' me, mister!"   
  
"Umm, oneesan, you have to understand--"   
  
"The only thing I _have_ to understand is what you're all hiding from me." Her foot continued tapping, her glare never faltering. "Out with it. Now."   
  
They all looked at each other, then both Gravos and Jillas looked at Valgaav.   
  
"Uhh..." Gravos said, eyeing him.   
  
"Well..." Jillas gave Valgaav a facial shrug.   
  
He looked to the two of them again, then sighed in exasperation. "Oh, all right! I'll do it. Happy?" he asked them.   
  
The relief of the two servants was palpable as they quickly evacuated the kitchen.   
  
"I'm waiting," Filia said once they were alone, her tone a warning rattle.   
  
"Filia, you're in more danger here than even I'm in," Valgaav said, looking her squarely in the eye.   
  
Filia blinked. "What are you talking about?"   
  
"Xellos. He's avoiding confronting me, but he's going after you."   
  
Filia's arms remained crossed, but they tightened around herself in a miniature hug. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Look at the evidence," Valgaav said, walking up to her. "He knows exactly where I am."   
  
"How do you know?"   
  
"Both times he's been here, each time he's left just prior to my arrival. The second time was, in your own words, less than a minute."   
  
"That doesn't mean anything..."   
  
"You were there when he told me his orders before," Valgaav reminded her, and Filia fought down a little shudder at the memory. That had not been an easy day. "Either get me to join forces with the Mazoku, and if he couldn't, then kill me. I'm not Mazoku anymore, and he's not trying to kill me."   
  
"So?" she asked, leaning on the doorframe.   
  
"So, he hasn't used any powers, has he?" he asked, walking up to her.   
  
"Well, he teleports..."   
  
"That's just our -- I mean, their -- way of traveling. I was to Lord Gaav what Xellos is to Beastmaster. While Gaav was fairly liberal with permission where I was concerned, I couldn't use any of the powers I got from him if he said not to. That's that. If Xellos is avoiding a fight with me, and by all evidence, he hasn't done anything involving his powers here, then it's pretty damn likely Beastmaster removed that order."   
  
"Where do I fit into this?" Filia asked.   
  
"He's interested in you, and that's never a good thing with the Mazoku. I think he might be trying to use you to get to me."   
  
Filia looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. "Why would he do that?"   
  
"Because he can."   
  
"I mean, does it get to you?"   
  
Valgaav blinked, looking at her incredulously. "Filia, you have to actually ask that?"   
  
"Well..."   
  
"Hell, yes, it gets to me!" She flinched a bit as his volume increased, and Valgaav grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to turn and face him completely. "You three are the only -- let me reiterate that so maybe it'll get through your head this time -- the _only_ individuals on the face of this entire godforsaken planet I trust!" His grip on her upper arms was almost painfully strong. "I am _not_ going to lose anyone else, do you hear me?"   
  
Filia nodded stiffly, staring up at him.   
  
"Good." Abruptly, he released her arms and stalked away across the kitchen, raking a hand through his hair. Valgaav swore under his breath, then looked at her. "You mind just telling me what the hell gave you the idea that it might not 'get to me'?"   
  
"You've been avoiding me," she whispered.   
  
Valgaav blinked, just staring at her, his expression completely perplexed. "Uh..._huh_? Say what? Obviously, we don't buy our logic at the same market," he told her, then added under his breath, "maybe even not the same planet."   
  
"I don't mean like that, it's just, well, like the other day..."   
  
"What about the other day?"   
  
"Are you just not interested anymore? I tried to undo what I'd said that night..."   
  
Valgaav was quiet for a moment. "_That's_ what this is about?"   
  
"Well, yes..."   
  
He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as he slowly walked back to Filia. Feeling nervous, she drew back slightly, pressing against the doorframe as she watched.   
  
"You want the truth?" he asked, and mutely, she nodded. "Truth is, I'm scared if I do anything, he'll come after you again." Filia's eyes widened, and she looked up at him. Valgaav looked away to the floor, his voice softening. "I don't want him to get any idea of just how important you are to me."   
  
Filia bit her bottom lip, feeling guilty. "I didn't realize..."   
  
Valgaav studied her for a moment, then sighed, pulling her close to hug her tightly. Filia closed her eyes, relaxing against him as she returned the hug.   
  
"Why now?" she whispered.   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"Why are you holding me now? He could be watching, somehow."   
  
Valgaav was silent for a moment, then held her tighter. "The hell with him, then. I didn't realize till just now how much I've wanted to do this." Filia felt him press his lips against the top of her head before resting his cheek against it. "Are you still scared?" he whispered after a moment.   
  
Filia hesitated. "Yes," she admitted. She felt, rather than heard, him sigh as he started to let go of her.   
  
"All right," he said.   
  
Filia tightened her grip, not letting him pull away as she looked up at him. Valgaav arched an eyebrow curiously as he met her eyes. "But to paraphrase you," she said quietly, "the hell with it."   
  
His confused expression remained for a few moments, then a small, slow smile formed on his lips. "Yeah?"   
  
"Yeah," Filia whispered back, returning the smile. She gave a quick, startled laugh as he suddenly pulled her back into the hug, even tighter than before. Before she could reciprocate in kind, she was released.   
  
Valgaav kept one arm around her, freeing his other hand to rest against her cheek, brushing it softly with the pad of his thumb. "We'll be okay, Filia," he whispered.   
  
She blushed slightly, but gave him a lopsided smile, moving her hands up to rest against his chest. "I don't know," she admitted, "personally, I was kind of hoping to aim a little higher than 'okay'."   
  
He grinned broadly. "That, too." Filia smiled shyly as she gazed up at him, and his grin softened to the wee, little smile.   
  
That smile did such strange things to her, like turn her bones to water and make her heart skip a beat, or five. As he lowered his lips closer to hers, Filia closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling curiously dizzy and breathless already. She felt his hair brushing lightly against her cheek as he drew nearer.   
  
"Is everything okay then, Lord Valgaav?"   
  
Both of them jumped at the sound of Gravos' voice, and Filia turned from the doorway, blushing furiously.   
  
"Yes, Gravos, everything's _just_ fine." Valgaav's tone was impatient, frustrated, and annoyed.   
  
"Oh, good. We didn't hear any yelling' or things breakin', and were worried maybe one of ya killed the other." She could hear the grin in his voice, and blushed even more, her entire face feeling like it was on fire. "Ain't the case, I guess."   
  
Filia pulled out of Valgaav's grip and hurried for the other door, nearer to the shop.   
  
"Filia, wait!" Valgaav's tone was slightly startled, but she didn't stop until she was in the dark, cool solitude of the store, and covered her face with her hands.   
  
She kept telling herself that there was no reason to feel guilty, ashamed, or even shy. There was nothing wanton about her behavior, nothing wrong with kissing him. She... yes, she did love him. And he did care about her in turn. That didn't make contradicting centuries of teachings any easier.   
  
"Filia?" Valgaav asked quietly from the doorway.   
  
She looked up to him, drawing in a deep breath.   
  
"I'm sorry," they both said at once, then paused, and began to chuckle quietly.   
  
"Tact isn't one of Gravos' stronger points," Valgaav continued, walking up to her. "Are you all right?"   
  
"Yes, just...flustered, I guess." She looked down at her hands. "It's just that...all my life, I've been taught that this is sinful."   
  
"What is? Kissing?" She could hear the surprise in his voice.   
  
Filia nodded. "Not just that, anything that involves, um..." She paused and stammered. "Anything carnal," she said, _sotto voce_.   
  
"And kissing is carnal?"   
  
"Well, it...it leads to other things." Filia wasn't sure how she could blush any more than she already was and not melt into a little puddle. "It's...um, we were taught that, uh... urges like this, they were...not appropriate."   
  
Valgaav snorted in annoyance. "Then they were even bigger fools than I first thought they were, and that's sayin' a hell of a lot." He closed the distance between them and gripped her shoulders gently, making her turn to face him. "Filia, there's nothing wrong with this, or feeling like this. It's normal." She kept her eyes shut, unable to look at him, feeling extremely bashful as she nodded. He stroked her hair back from her forehead softly. "We'll just have to work on that, then."   
  
He pulled away from her, walking across the shop to the counter, moving behind it to light a lamp. Filia took a few moments to compose herself before turning to face him, watching as he started straightening up the stack of paper they used to take orders and write up sales.   
  
"How does it feel to be caught up on the debts?" he asked, changing the subject.   
  
"Wonderful," Filia replied, grateful for a new topic as she walked over. "And now that Gravos is forging weaponry, we're pulling in even more. Of course, the profits still aren't very high, after the cost of supplies, but..."   
  
"But we're making it." She studied him as he moved away, walking over to her workstation. "I've watched you at work here, you know." Valgaav looked over to her. "It still amazes me a bit, how fast this thing will spin, and how it just looks almost like you hold your hands over it and it magically takes shape."   
  
"It's hardly magic," she replied, grinning at him. "It's fairly simple, once you get the hang of it."   
  
"It's the getting the hang of it part that's not," he replied.   
  
"Teacups are pretty advanced, but a vase is easy." Filia crossed her arms, looking at him. "Want me to teach you?"   
  
"Only if you promise not to laugh at the misshapen lump I'm likely to create?" he asked, grinning over at her.   
  
"Have a little more faith in my teaching skills." Filia walked over to the work area, and picked up a bucket from the corner. "Go fill this with water. I'll get out the clay."   
  
Fifteen minutes later, Valgaav was sitting on the bench, getting the hang of turning the pottery wheel with his feet. After he dunked his hands in water, Filia wet some clay and put it on the center.   
  
"Now what?" he asked, eyeing the spinning lump.   
  
"Well, first, you need to hollow it out. Put one hand on the side, and put your fist in the middle."   
  
He did as she instructed, gradually making a depression in the clay, and as she instructed him, started to coax the sides up higher, shaping the vase. The first part of it was always easy, but Filia noticed that as the need for control and skill increased, he became more hesitant. Rolling up the sleeves of her robe, she wet her own hands, placing them over his to help guide his fingers over the clay.   
  
She sat down close beside him, one arm under his, reaching out to rest over his opposite hand. Eventually, she stopped talking, her motions a better teacher than her words as their fingers interlaced, working together, caressing each other. It grew increasingly difficult to concentrate on what she was doing, the sound of her own pulse in her ears as her heart picked up the pace was distracting, as was his nearness. It was a relief when she saw the short, round vase was finally smooth and symmetrical, and linked her fingers around his carefully to pull his hands away.   
  
"It's done," she whispered.   
  
He didn't say anything, but she felt him looking at her as he moved his hands under hers, rubbing his clay-slick fingers between her own. Filia turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze, and his hands turned into fists, gently gripping her fingers, and leaned in closer, kissing her.   
  
It was different than the first. Still tender, but stronger, almost demanding, and it took the air right out of her lungs as her heart stopped. As she responded, returning the kiss, he released her fingers and moved his hands over hers, rubbing the back of them, his fingertips grazing at her pulse points on her wrists with such a light touch, she shivered.   
  
At that little reaction, the kiss deepened. She felt his tongue brush against her lips as his own coaxed hers apart, and she moaned under her breath involuntarily at the invasion of her mouth. His hands gripped hers now, the pressure steady and mild. Everything within her felt molten and liquified, and her heart fluttered rapidly.   
  
By the time he drew back from the kiss, Filia couldn't tell up from down. Her head was spinning from the sensation of having her entire world reduced down to just the two of them, and opened her eyes, dazed. Valgaav was watching her expression intently, then gave her a small grin, breathless and slightly unsteady, before leaning closer again, resting his cheek against hers, nuzzling her softly. Filia closed her eyes, leaning against him as he brought their hand down to rest on the now-stationary wheel table.   
  
"Let's go wash the clay off," he whispered in her ear. "I'm having a hard time remembering not to touch you and ruin your robe."   
  
She nodded, nuzzling him lightly. "All right," she replied quietly. "I'll move the vase over to the drying table."   
  
"How long before it's ready to fire?"   
  
"Depends on you. Do you want to paint it?"   
  
He gave her a tiny grin. "Depends on you. You wanna teach me?"   
  
Filia blushed, but smiled up at him. "Of course. In that case, tomorrow, I'll cast a spell over that one with the others I did earlier today to hasten the drying process, and once its done, I'll show you how to paint and glaze the vase before we fire it."   
  
Filia stood, and very carefully removed the vase from the wheel, holding it up to inspect it, and grinned at him. "Your very first vase," she announced. "Good job!"   
  
Valgaav shook his head, watching her. "No, not mine." Filia looked at him curiously. "Ours."   
  
The expression in his eyes was so fondly possessive that Filia's knees immediately went weak, threatening not to support her for much longer. Swallowing hard, trying to shove her fluttering heart back down into her chest where it belonged, she managed a tiny, breathless smile and quickly put the vase down on the table with the other finished pieces.   
  
Standing, he took her hand and pulled her closer for another kiss, both strong and gentle, only breaking it when he released his hands, stopping himself just in time before he put his arms around her.   
  
"Let's go wash off the clay, huh?" he whispered, chuckling. With a small smile, she nodded, and took his hand, walking with him from the shop.   
  


* * *

  
**Note to Readers:** Hmm...This ran longer than I thought. Oh well, that just means I get to crawl inside Xellos' head in the next chapter...::cackles deviously::  
~ Zanne   
  


_to be continued..._

  



	13. Chapter Thirteen

**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Thirteen

  
  
Xellos would have rather enjoyed playing chess, he supposed, if he didn't find it so consistently easy and predictable. There were only so many moves one could make, limited even more by the opposition's character. And there was no real stake to it. They were simply inanimate pawns on a wooden board.  
  
But when it came to lesser beings -- lesser, sentient beings -- then things were different. All of creation was nothing more than a gigantic chess board, and the inhabitants therein were the pawns, the rooks, the knights, and the bishops. Every so often, he would encounter those worthy enough to be a king and queen.  
  
That was when the games began, and Filia was a marvelous queen. She held a power over him -- it was only a fool who did acknowledge potential threats to his position -- but he was confident in his ability to maneuver her over the board, so to speak. Valgaav was his king, and he simply had to ensure that events unfolded as he chose in order to properly checkmate him.  
  
Once he did, the queen would be his, and his alone. Filia fascinated him like nothing else had for a very long time. At first, he desired to kill her. Namagomi -- raw garbage? How dare that impudent whelp forget her place in the food chain? But as their time together increased, so did her appeal. He marveled over how she was able to goad him, to get under his skin like no one else. When they stood side by side to defeat that upstart, he wanted nothing more than to possesses her, body and soul, and make her his.  
  
Such a lovely Golden trophy, his queen.  
  
At first, he had been furious that Lord Beastmaster had rescinded her orders to destroy Valgaav, thereby preventing him from killing him outright. Although no longer a Mazoku, he was still a worthy foe as Ancient Dragons were the most powerful of the draconian race.  
  
But once the initial fury abated, he saw the potential in such a situation. It made the game that much more interesting, and a challenge indeed, to manipulate the two dragons with nothing more than his wit. Once he won, he would be the clear victor, as he did not have to resort to petty violence to remove the opposition.  
  
No, he wanted the opposition to remove itself, to bow out, to admit defeat.  
  
That did not mean that Xellos had any qualms against employing violent means should it become necessary for the manipulation of his little chess pieces, but no, he would not attack Valgaav. In fact, with the progression of time, watching the two of them growing closer and closer still, Xellos decided he would much rather leave the former Mazoku half-breed alive.  
  
Whatever came between Filia and Valgaav would be his own fault. Xellos would see to it. And he could live with the knowledge that all he lost was his own responsibility. In such an instance, death would be a release, not a punishment.  
  
Xellos had no intention of releasing him. It had been far too long since he had such a rousing game of chess. His powerful queen moved in whichever way he dictated for her, and it was only a matter of time before he would checkmate the king. Such a game was not won, however, from impetuous behavior or unclear thinking.  
  
He moved along silently, observing from the astral realm as he followed them to the marketplace. His dragon walked side by side, even hand in hand, with that interloper as they set about their business, and they smiled at one another. It was such a fetching picture, he supposed, and downright cloying, rather like the stench of decay. It galled him somewhat to see the former half-breed touching his belongings in such a familiar manner.  
  
No matter. He would pay for it eventually, and the interest rate would be a killer.  
  
Several plans were starting to formulate in his mind, but still, he stayed his hand. Nothing yet was clear enough to justify movement, and acting rashly could throw the game into their favor. He had to bide his time, and suffer the outrage of leaving her with that upstart just a while longer.  
  
He could do it, after all. Such was the way of a master of manipulation. Nothing was ever too high a price to pay for his victory, not when he was not the one who would ultimately pick up the bill.  
  
Valgaav's temper would be his undoing. From his observations, Xellos knew that his little dragon was frightened of him then. All the better. It was simply a matter of finding the right ways to provoke Valgaav into action, and to take such a course that his actions would drive Filia away, preferably straight into Xellos' own arms. It could be done. It would be a rather tricky _coup d'éclat_, given her own determination to loathe the very sound of his name, but not beyond the realms of being viable.  
  
And Valgaav, the dear lad, was being gracious enough to provide Xellos with potential. He had observed the dragon suffering from flashbacks and nightmares, and had fed on the rage and aggression which simmered just below the surface. It would only be a matter of time before it boiled over and exploded.  
  
If Filia happened to be in the way of such an explosion, all the better.  
  
As he watched them, Valgaav came to a halt in the middle of the market square and looked around, eyes narrowed slightly, scanning his surroundings as he drew Filia closer to his side. Xellos smiled darkly, sensing his emotions.  
  
_So you know I'm here somewhere, watching you. Pity you can't see me, Valgaav. I can see you just fine,_ he thought. Xellos toyed with the notion of letting them perhaps catch a glimpse of his presence, but decided against it. Better to let the perceived threat remain obscure and uncertain.  
  
Filia was trying to get his attention, clearly asking what was the matter, and from the brief exchange they had, followed by Filia's eyes fearfully casting glances around the marketplace, Xellos supposed they spoke of his presence. Valgaav radiated aggression, and he was pleased. The dragon was beginning to learn his role, and soon, he would be acting out his part as expertly as Filia did hers.  
  
Once that was the case, then Xellos' triumph would be as good as a promise.  
  


* * *

  
"Valgaav, the windows and doors have not unbolted themselves since you last checked them ten minutes ago."  
  
He looked over to the fireplace, where Filia was sitting curled up on a chair, mending one of Jillas' shirts. "He was out there today, Filia. I know I felt him." Her blue eyes looked darker in the shadows as she watched him, her hands growing still. She had not sensed Xellos' nearness earlier that day, and she had said she believed him, but now... He wasn't so certain. "I'm not making this up, Filia," he said, and added, "nor am I crazy."  
  
Valgaav just wished he could be a little more certain on that last one. Sane people didn't see timeworn memories of murders long past as clear as day, vivid enough to touch, nor did they hear utterances and screams that had not been given voice in millennia. At least, he didn't think so.  
  
"I know that," Filia said patiently, watching him. "It's just...these precautions, they won't stop him, you know."  
  
"I _know_!" he snapped, and immediately regretted his harsh tone. "It just makes me feel like I'm actually doing something other than just sitting here waiting." Exasperated, he raked a hand through his hair. "Bet you tomorrow's profits that I'm doing exactly what he wants me to do, though."  
  
"Why don't you come sit down and relax, then?" Filia suggested.  
  
He hesitated, then flopped down on the couch with a sigh, covering his eyes with his forearm. "If I thought for even a moment that there was someplace I could take all of you that you'd be safe, that he couldn't get to you, we'd leave tonight."  
  
"I know."  
  
"There's spells and wards, but even those won't work for all time." He sat up again, elbows on his knees, restless. "I'd give almost anything to be a Mazoku again. At least then, I'd know for sure I could take him on." He saw Filia blanch slightly, and shook his head. "Don't worry. There's only one Mazoku lord I would have trusted that much, and he's dead now."  
  
"What was he like?" Filia asked softly.  
  
"Gaav?" He hesitated. "Keep in mind, he was still Mazoku. But even by those standards, to my opinion at least, he was the decent sort. I hated him at first, the first hundred years or so. Hated what I'd allowed myself to become, like it was betraying my people. And for that, I hated him."  
  
"What changed?"  
  
"I did, I guess. He was trapped in a form with a human soul, so, that gave him a different edge than most. He wasn't one of the good guys, but compared to the rest of the lot..." Valgaav trailed off and shrugged. "We were a lot alike. Neither of us were fully Mazoku in nature, and both of us were on the run. He from the other Mazoku lords, and I from..." He shuddered as he closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He wouldn't think about that, not them, not now. He wouldn't tell her that once the Golden dragons of her sect found out that he had survived after all, and was a Mazoku, they had tried to hunt him down.  
  
Filia was quiet; they both were. "So he was a good man to you, then?" she asked softly.  
  
Valgaav considered his answer, then nodded. "Yeah. He was." He hung his head, resting it in his hands as he recalled Gaav's face. He would have offered up almost anyone as a sacrifice to L-sama in exchange for getting him back again. Anyone but the three he lived with, Jillas, Gravos, and Filia. So many things would have been different, if he had not been killed.  
  
"I'm sorry he's gone," Filia said quietly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You obviously cared about him."  
  
He made a facial shrug, sighing heavily as he leaned back on the couch, suddenly feeling drained. "Just like everyone else."   
  
Filia put her sewing down and sat beside him on the couch. Valgaav slipped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer as he kissed the top of her head, resting his cheek against it. "I'm not letting it happen again. Not so as long as I still breathe, if there's any way possible to stop it from happening again, I'm gonna do it."  
  
At first, she didn't speak, choosing instead to drape an arm over him in a tight half-hug. "We'll manage."  
  
"I wish we could stop just managing, and..." He sighed. "I don't know. Is it too much to ask for just a little peace? Apparently." Even to his own ears, his tone was bitter.  
  
Filia looked up at him, brushing an aqua lock out of his eyes. "Then, I suppose, if the world won't give us peace, we'll just have to figure out how to make our own."  
  
He smiled slightly at that, kissing her softly. "But that can keep for tomorrow. It gets late."  
  
"That it does." She laid her head on his shoulder, obviously in no hurry to stand. "Are you turning in?"  
  
"In a while. I keep first watch."  
  
"I feel guilty, that I sleep through the night while the rest of you don't."  
  
"No reason to be. It kind of defeats the purpose if the one to be guarded is the only one awake."  
  
"Hopefully he'll grow bored and leave us alone. Or maybe he'll get to be too busy with another task."  
  
"Hopefully."  
  
"Good night, Valgaav."  
  
"Rest well, Filia." He quirked a small smile as she remained seated, her head laying against his shoulder. "Are you going to bed?"  
  
"I probably should." She nuzzled his shoulder. "But the fire's warm, and so are you. I'll get up. Just, give me a push to get me moving?"  
  
He chuckled, turning his head to look down at her. "If you want, you can stay out here. I'll take the floor or the chair."  
  
"Couldn't do that to you." With some degree of effort, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position, moving her feet onto the floor. "I'm not done with Jillas' shirt."  
  
"I'll take care of it."  
  
"You can sew?" Her expression was dubious as she looked to him.  
  
"What? You don't think I can?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"I can figure it out. It'll give me something to do besides stalk around and drive myself mad."  
  
Filia smiled sleepily, standing up. He rested a hand against her back to help her steady herself. "If you really want to..." The rest of her words were obscured by a yawn. "Funny how sitting still for a few minutes makes you realize how tired you are. Good night, Valgaav."  
  
"Good night, Filia."  
  


* * *

  
Val veered to the south as he drew closer to the temple, dodging a blast from an attacking Golden as he drew in a deep breath, preparing himself to launch one of his own as another flew into his path. The ultrasonic screech that was his breath weapon hit true, and the Golden reeled, bleeding heavily from massive internal hemorrhaging as it plummeted to the ground below.  
  
Jatlini clung to him the best he could as Val held his younger brother securely to his chest, thankful now that Jatlini hadn't transformed. Barely older than a hatchling, his brother would never have been able to keep up with Val, let alone dodge the attacks.  
  
Diving closer to the ground as he neared the hatchery, the first thing he noticed was that the outer wall had been ripped away. Growling at the intrusion, not wanting to think of what the Goldens would do to the eggs, he landed, setting Jatlini down.  
  
"Go hide over there," he ordered, pointing to a pile of rubble with his talon.  
  
"I'm supposed to stay with you!"  
  
Val forced his brother to let go of his arm. "You can't. Not now. I don't know if there's anyone in there, or what it's like in there. If it's safe, I'll come get you, I promise. Now get over there and hide before anyone sees us!"  
  
He lingered for a few moments, watching the skies and their surroundings warily, waiting until he was sure Jatlini was hidden. His heart pounding, he stepped over the rubble of the destroyed outer wall, hoping that the interior of the hatchery hadn't yet been breached.  
  
The way down into the deeper areas of the hatchery was confusing, and deliberately so, all the better to keep the eggs hidden and secure. He hesitated, uncertain of where to go. Only female dragons were allowed past the outer walls, but at this juncture, he really didn't care about the rules.  
  
There was too much commotion going on outside for him to hear anything further within the hatchery, and he decided to just pick a hall and see how far it took him.  
  
Val didn't have to travel a significant distance before encountering his first gristly indication that he was very likely heading the right way. Gritting his teeth, he turned his gaze from the humanoid Ancient skewered face-first to the wall. An attack from behind.  
  
_Bastards..._  
  
He didn't know what he'd do if Caitarina was dead. It wasn't an option. It just wasn't. She'd be okay. He'd get to her in time.  
  
Picking up his pace, Val ran down the corridors, following the indicators of blood, death, and other signs of destruction that periodically informed him he was on the right track. He was close enough now that he could hear fighting. That was good. Fighting meant there were still Ancients alive in there.  
  
Shifting down to his humanoid form, he slowed down and cautiously peeked around the corner, holding his breath, hoping his heart wasn't as loud as it felt, pounding in his chest. There were five of them, four in humanoid bodies, one still a dragon, battering away at the door. From the looks of things, he doubted it would hold out much longer.  
  
There had to be another way in, and if there was another way in, there was a way for them to get out. No, they wouldn't leave. Not if they couldn't take the eggs. He wouldn't leave them to be captured or destroyed by the Goldens. No, he'd find a way in, and help whoever was left inside protect them.  
  
Jatlini crossed his mind and he hesitated, wondering if he should go back for his younger brother. No, if Jat stayed hidden like he was told, he'd be safer out there than he would be in the hatchery with Val.  
  
Inching back from the corner, he started to look for an alternate route, either a back way in, or maybe some ventilation shafts large enough for him to crawl through. As he walked around a corner, his heart leapt into his throat and he jumped back, biting his lip, hoping the two Golden sentries, patrolling the halls in humanoid form, hadn't heard or seen him.  
  
When nothing happened after several seconds, he cautiously peeked around the corner again. They were further down, and still had yet to turn around. A crazy plan came to mind and before he could talk himself out of it, he started stalking up behind them, the adrenaline making him feel slightly lightheaded. It was hard, keeping a balance between moving too slowly, and staying silent. A few feet away, he suddenly shifted into his dragon form as the guards spun around, and attacked before they could do likewise.  
  
He slapped his paw into one of them, cuffing the sentry upside the head with enough force that his head ripped from his shoulders. At the same time, he snapped his jaws over the head of the second guard, giving him a quick shake, and felt a pop as the guard's neck broke.  
  
Spitting out the body, he looked around, growling low as his tail twitched in nervous agitation. When he looked back to the bodies and shifted into his humanoid form, he felt ill. As he relieved the guards of their weapons, he noticed his hands were trembling uncontrollably, and pressed them to his mouth as he tried to quell the nervous sickness.  
  
Crouching down, Val squeezed his eyes shut tightly, repeating over and over to himself like a mantra that it would have either have been them, or him, trying not to think about the fact that he'd just taken a life, two lives. He'd attacked Goldens outside on the way there, but he never actually _saw_ them die. He'd just taken two lives by his own hand.  
  
Feeling suddenly furious at himself for being affected, Val gasped in a shaky breath, rubbing his hands over his eyes roughly. The Goldens were trying to kill them. It didn't matter. Their lives weren't worth anything. He had to believe that. No, he couldn't. It would mean he wasn't any better than them. He had to kill them. There wasn't any choice. The Goldens weren't leaving them any choice.  
  
The shrill scream of a female snapped him out of it, and he was already breaking into a run as he stood, weapons in hand. As he reached the doors again, he saw that the Goldens had succeeded in breaking through, and there were more of them now. It was too crowded to change into his dragon form, so he merely dove into the melee, swinging one of the stolen halberds at a Golden, screaming.  
  
They weren't expecting an attack from the rear, and he managed to take down two before they diverted some of their strength to driving him back.  
  
Or at least, that was what they were trying to do. They weren't the ones defending their home, nor were they driven by adrenaline-fueled rage. Between the Ancients defending the eggs within the hatchery, and his unexpected attack on their flank, he was able to make it closer to the doors.  
  
A few of the Goldens managed to fight their way into the inner rooms, and roars shook the walls, cracking the masonry as ultrasonic energies impacted. Then the wall beside him caved in, the ceiling crumbling, as a dragon crashed through it from within. He just had to glimpse the dark fur to know it was an Ancient as he quickly dove out of the way, slamming the halberd into a Golden, knocking the unfortunate guard into the rubble's path.  
  
Val spared a glance over his shoulder at the destruction behind him to get his bearings, then froze.  
  


* * *

  
"Caitarina!"  
  
Valgaav fought off the blankets, sitting up quickly, trembling from the nightmare. Running his hands through his hair as he hung his head, he found it sweat-soaked and damp, as were his clothes. He swallowed hard, pressing his hands over his mouth as he stared at the low embers in the fireplace, trying to steady his nerves.  
  
He hadn't needed sleep as a Mazoku, once his mind and body adapted to it. He could sleep, but it wasn't required. Now that it was...  
  
Why did they have to come back to haunt him? They were dead. Remembering them wouldn't change a damned thing.  
  
"Lord Valgaav?" Gravos asked quietly from the doorway.  
  
"I'm all right, Gravos." Valgaav stood, drawing in a deep breath. He tried not to shiver as the cold sweat coating him began to evaporate. "How's it been tonight?"  
  
"Quiet."  
  
"What time is it anyway?"  
  
"Third hour. I just started my watch. Want me to make you some tea or something?"  
  
"I'm all right. I'm not sure if I'll be staying up or not."  
  
After stepping outside to splash cold well water on his face, washing off the sweat, trying to wash away the dreams, Valgaav started to return to the living room to attempt sleep again, but hesitated in the hall.  
  
Changing course, he walked to Filia's door, opening it silently, stepping into her room. He had to see her with his own eyes, to know she was safe, alive, and well. Filia was sleeping soundly, one arm over her pillow, one under it, hugging it to her as she curled around the pillow slightly.  
  
He hadn't been able to protect anyone else he'd cared about. Not his parents, not his siblings, not Caitarina, not Gaav. That was going to change with Filia.  
  
It had to.  
  
Gently, he brushed her hair away from her face, gazing at her peaceful expression, and she stirred slightly, nuzzling her pillow, still lost in dreams. Valgaav watched her sleeping for a few minutes longer before quietly slipping out of her room.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Note to Readers:** Yes, I'm finally back, and hopefully, you won't have to wait this long again for Chapter 15. No, I didn't get the job. That day was a total waste of make-up, fraught with extreme frustration, aggravation, and an excessive amount of idiots, and was concluded with me driving away cheerfully visualizing Lina casting a Dragon Slave on the building. Of course, that would wipe out most of Waco, but eh, no big loss.  
I apologize profusely, though, for this delay in getting Chapter 14 out. I wasn't up to writing anything for a couple of days afterwards, and then my muse just wouldn't cooperate. I knew where the chapter would go, action-wise, but every time I tried to write it, it wasn't up to my usual standards. It came out flat and lifeless, and I wasn't happy with it. It didn't help that my muse was on an art spree, even if it did produce some rather nice bits of fanart (in my opinion), and a canon-art collage for _The Illusion of Truth_. If you want, you can see the art if you go to my Slayers site (link's in my bio) and go to Cast Info-Image Gallery.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Fourteen

  
  
After an aborted attempted to try and grab a bit more sleep, Valgaav took Gravos up on the offer for tea. Sitting in the silence of the dark living room, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace, he slowly sipped the hot liquid, trying to banish the image of Caitarina from his mind.   
  
He didn't want to remember her like that. If he had left just a bit sooner that day, maybe he would have been there before the Goldens broke through. Maybe he could have gotten her out, kept her alive somehow.   
  
But what ifs and maybes were useless. She was dead, and that was all there was to it. He hadn't been able to protect her from the Goldens, and he was at a loss as to how best to keep Filia safe from Xellos. Was this the Fates laughing in his face again, or was it a second chance?   
  
As he considered this, Valgaav narrowed his eyes. If it was a second chance, then he wasn't going to blow it. If it was the Fates mocking him, then he would just have to see to it that he had the last laugh. It was that simple.   
  
What wasn't quite so simple was the how, but that was trifling. In the meantime, he would just have to take each day as it arrived, starting with that one. After a few more minutes of quiet contemplation, an idea of where to start surfaced, and he went looking for Gravos.   
  
"Gravos, what time does Filia usually get up?" Valgaav asked, walking into the kitchen.   
  
"Usually 'round dawn," came the reply, and Gravos looked out the window. "Half of an hour or so, I think."   
  
"Think we can get breakfast prepared before then?"   
  
"Well, we can always try. Why?"   
  
Valgaav shrugged, standing. "Filia's been pushing herself hard enough. Thought it might be nice for her to take it easy this morning for once."   
  
Gravos grinned broadly over his shoulder at Valgaav as he ducked into the larder, gathering up various foodstuff. "She's turnin' out to be a nice one, huh? Not like them others she was travelin' with."   
  
"Yeah, she is. Come on, let's get to work," Valgaav said before Gravos could offer further commentary on the subject. Not only did he not want to think of that Inverse woman, but he still felt aggressively protective over his feelings, wanting to keep them to himself, secret, private.   
  
It was easier to show them than to say the words, at least the more unfamiliar emotions. Things like rage and hatred, those were familiar old friends. But not the tenderness he felt whenever Filia came to mind, the warmth that would ignite around his heart and spiral outward.   
  
The emotions were there, he would acknowledge feeling them, but talking about them? That was an entirely different story. It didn't matter how unlikely it was that no one had noticed yet, it was just the principle of the thing.   
  


* * *

  
Slowly and drowsily, Filia started to awaken, gradually taking in what information there was to be had without actually opening her eyes. It was comfortably warm, she could smell the delicate sweetness of tea underscoring the stronger, tangy scent of fresh fruits offset by the more earthy aroma of porridge. Distantly, she could hear the now-familiar trilling of a few local songbirds as they began their day.   
  
But above all, there was the soothing, warm sensation of a gentle hand softly stroking her hair back away from her face. It was that which had first began to pull her from slumber, but its very tranquillity did not lend itself to a prompt awakening.   
  
Finally, though, she had ascended far enough out of the layers of sleep to feel capable of opening her eyes, stretching a little and yawning slightly as she did, rubbing her hands over her lids before opening them to the soft glow of the light filtering through the curtains.   
  
"Finally awake, I see," Valgaav said softly. He was sporting that tender, tiny smile that never failed to melt her heart.   
  
Filia blinked, and smiled sleepily. "Well, you weren't trying very hard," she murmured, rolling onto her side to face him and curled slightly into a fetal position, hugging her pillow. "Is breakfast ready?"   
  
"And served." He gestured to her bedside table and Filia blinked, seeing the tray for the first time.   
  
"What's this?" she asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position. A sensation of apprehension settled over her. Something bad had happened, she was certain of it.   
  
"A leisurely morning?" Valgaav suggested, turning away from her to pick up the tray. "At least until it's time for the shop to open?"   
  
Filia forced a shaky smile, bewildered and nervous, as he placed the tray on the bed over lap. Only twice in her lifetime could she remember ever being catered to, waited on hand and foot in bed, without being ill.   
  
It was always a harbinger for crushing news.   
  
Her fear only increased as she studied Valgaav, noting that he seemed somewhat ill at ease as he began uncovering things. "What brought this on?" she asked, watching him warily.   
  
He shrugged, opting to look at the dishes he was uncovering rather than at her. "You've been working hard."   
  
She studied him, trying to figure out if something was going on. "No more than the rest of you, and I'm the one who gets the full night for sleep. I don't mind at all, I'm just curious as to why you're doing this," Filia said carefully, watching him as he poured her a cup of tea. Her lungs felt constricted in apprehension, steeling herself for the worst. His reaction wasn't what she expected, though.   
  
"Damnit!" Valgaav snapped, setting the teapot down a bit forcefully. "Why can't you just accept it instead of giving me the third degree?"   
  
Filia grabbed the sides of the tray to keep it steady, staring at him in wide-eyed shock as he stalked away from the bed, raking a hand through his hair viciously. "Valgaav?" she inquired softly, watching him as he looked out the window. "What is it?"   
  
He didn't answer immediately, and when he did, his voice sounded exhausted. "Just eat your breakfast, Filia," he said quietly, turning toward the door, walking away.   
  
She picked up her teacup timidly, blinking back bemused tears. This was doubtlessly one of the more tumultuous mornings in her life. What had he been up to? Was there something going on? Some bad news he had yet to break, and was dreading it? Or had it merely been a gesture intended in kindness?   
  
In retrospect, Filia, reasoned, perhaps she should have just thanked him graciously, kept her mouth shut, and left it at that. Wait for the news, and let the blows fall where they may. But the self-consciousness evident in his behavior, and her own sleep-addled mind had her mouth working long before her brain.   
  
Such a wonderful way to start off a morning.   
  
The food was good, but Filia could barely taste it, trying to keep the tears back. She wasn't fully awake, and already her emotions were being flung about in a windstorm, and for no one's fault but her own. It didn't help that there was the unanswered question, wondering if harm had befallen someone in their tiny family, or if...   
  
Icy fear gripped her heart. Maybe he was planning to leave after all. Maybe he decided that she had been right, that they would be safer if he left. It was growing impossible to eat for all the tears, and the fear constricting her throat. Choking down a sob, she reached for her teacup, staring at the tray. Through the shimmering veil of tears clouding her eyes, the tiny bouquet of wildflowers resting by the plate finally registered in her mind and sank in.   
  
What were the odds that there wasn't in fact any bad news in the wings, but instead, the whole morning was just an attempt to do something nice for her? The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. It was even harder for her to attempt to bring the tears under control as she thought back, noting with a sick sensation of guilt that to her reckoning, it seemed that every time Valgaav tried to do something for her, she wound up upsetting him somehow.   
  
Barely able to breathe as she tried holding back tears, Filia choked down small bites of food, determined to try and eat it, knowing both that she did need to eat, and afraid that by not doing so, she'd be doing something else wrong, sending another wrong message.   
  
Filia used the napkin to wipe away the tears, sniffling as she continued to eat, trying to breathe. Valgaav had tried to do something nice for her; it was her own fault the morning started off on such a sour note. With a deep sigh, she settled back against the headboard, sipping her tea as she tried to formulate an apology.   
  


* * *

  
_Beautiful, Valgaav. Just...that was a real class act. What are you gonna do for an encore, slap her face?_   
  
Eyes closed, Valgaav leaned against the hallway wall, letting his head thunk back against the wood, feeling extraordinarily disgusted with himself. It wasn't Filia's fault that every chance he had to elaborate on how he felt, he found himself doing the exact opposite.   
  
Maybe this was all a mistake. It felt like he had seen that stricken look in Filia's eyes far too often, and more often than not, he was the one who put it there. He couldn't seem to stop himself from taking out his frustrations on her. Which was more foolish, to think an Ancient and a Golden could be together, or to think that blood history could keep them apart?   
  
Hinges creaking prompted him to open his eyes, and when he glanced over to the source, he bit back a curt epithet, feeling even more vexed with himself. Filia stood in the doorway, her golden hair still mussed from sleep and filtering the morning sunlight behind her, giving her a slight halo. Her face was pale, looking even more so by her reddened eyes, large and solemn, and her cheeks were accented with faint suggestions of tear tracks.   
  
"Filia..."   
  
"Was this just to be nice, just meant for a nice gesture?" she interrupted, whispering softly as she watched him with the large, sad blue eyes.   
  
Valgaav hesitated, then nodded. Before he could say anything more, she started talking, speaking so quickly he couldn't get a word in edgewise.   
  
"I'm sorry. Every time you do something nice to me, I seem to upset you. I'm--"   
  
Valgaav cut off her rambling apology in mid-sentence with the only way that came to mind. She stiffened in surprise momentarily as he covered her lips with his, holding her tightly, then relaxed as her hands slid up to his shoulders.   
  
"Wha--" she started to murmur as he broke the kiss.   
  
"I love you, Filia," he whispered, interrupting her. Her blue eyes widened even more. "That's what I wanted to say, what I was trying to find a way to say."   
  
"So, there's no bad news?" she whispered, her expression still stunned.   
  
Valgaav couldn't keep from smirking a bit. "Not unless you consider what I just said to be bad news."   
  
Filia hugged him so tightly then that oxygen was well on its way to becoming an issue. "It's not bad news," she murmured. "It's wonderful, good news, and I love you too."   
  
He held her to him gently, resting his head on hers, stroking her hair. "Filia, why did you think I had bad news?"   
  
"Hmm." That soft sound was all she made as a response at first, nuzzling his chest. Then he felt her draw in a deep breath. "Because the only times I've ever been catered to like that without being rather ill is when there's been bad news. Only twice. First, when my mother died, then, my father."   
  
Valgaav kissed her hair, closing his eyes, tightening his arms around her a bit more protectively. "I'm sor--"   
  
"No, no apologies. Didn't you once say there were too many of those between us? You didn't know, you couldn't know."   
  
Cupping his hand under her chin, he tilted her face up to kiss her gently. "I suppose you have a point," he whispered, stroking the back of his hand against her cheek.   
  
Filia closed her eyes, nuzzling against his hand. "You meant it?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"That you love me?"   
  
"I don't have a clue when it happened, or what brought it on, but yeah." He pressed his lips to her forehead softly. "I do."   
  
"And to think I once believed the best I'd ever be able to hope for is that you wouldn't hate me quite so much."   
  
He shut his eyes tightly against the painful grip of emotion that coiled around his heart, holding her firmly in his arms as he buried his face in her hair. "Have I ever told you that you're far too good to me, Filia?"   
  
"Oh, Valgaav..."   
  
"After everything I've done--"   
  
"Shh." She pulled away, looking up at him as she placed her fingertips over his lips. "What's past is past. I love you, Valgaav."   
  
Even with her hair still mussed from sleep, her face pale, her eyes red, her cheeks streaked with tears, he though she never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment. Turning his head slightly, he pressed his lips against her palm, not breaking eye contact.   
  
He started to lean toward her, reaching for her cheek to pull her to him in a kiss, when a sudden flurry of running footsteps caused them both to look up as an agitated Jillas came flying around the corner.   
  
"Oneesan! Good! You're awake!"   
  
Filia blinked. "Why, what is it, Jillas?"   
  
"What's going on?" Valgaav demanded, reflexively holding Filia to him even tighter.   
  
"We have customers, I think."   
  
"This early? The shop's not open, and what do you mean, you think?" Filia asked.   
  
"Well, a carriage just pulled up out front, and I don't recognize the seal offhand, but it's a royal coach," Jillas explained.   
  
Filia blinked. "Oh, my. Go out there, Jillas. I'll be out just as soon as I can. Find out if they're actually planning to stop here." She kept blinking, looking up at Valgaav, her voice turning into a high-pitched squeak as she started to hyperventilate. "Royalty? Here? The place is a wreck! I don't have time to fix up my hair! And clothes! What am I--"   
  
"Filia!" He gave her shoulders a gentle shake. "Get a grip! Breathe. Remember how to do that? In with the good air, out with the bad? Go get dressed, don't worry about anything else. It'll be fine. If they raise a fuss, the least they could have done was to call ahead. Chances are, Jillas has interpreted things wrong."   
  
"But if it's--"   
  
"No buts. Calm down." He stole a quick kiss then turned her about, giving her a gentle shove back to her room. "We'll manage."   
  
Filia paused in the doorway as she started to shut the door, looking back to him. For a moment, a tiny, lopsided smile appeared. "We always do, don't we?"   
  
He smiled, watching her as she closed the door, then turned away. From the distant commotion, he could tell that the carriage Jillas had mentioned had likely stopped, and he was willing to bet it was right outside at that. Valgaav glanced down at himself, considering what he was wearing; pants, a loose shirt, no shoes, hair uncombed, and debated cleaning up first.   
  
That debate only lasted a few seconds. If their guests had a problem with his unkempt appearance, then they should have sent word ahead first, or arrived at a much more reasonable hour. Shrugging his shoulders, he raked a hand through his hair to smooth it out a bit more as he headed for the front door.   
  
When Valgaav glanced out the window, he noticed that it was indeed a very expensive coach. Perhaps not royalty, but adorned with that gilded crest, it was certainly owned by a nobleman at the very least.   
  
He was about to head to the door when a somewhat familiar voice reached his ears, and he froze, staring intently out the window until he found the source.   
  
It was her.   
  


* * *

  
Fighting down a sigh, Filia frantically pawed through her drawers and closet, wishing she had something at least somewhat elegant. All her attire now just screamed homespun and country bumpkin.   
  
It was all they could afford, with buying supplies for the shop, and keeping four people fed and clothed. The dainty pink dress and white silk cloak she had worn as part of her priestess attire had long since worn out, used for rags, patchwork, or converted into other things.   
  
With a twinge of regret she settled for the nicest frock she did own, a dress she hadn't worn yet. The material was ordinary cotton, but it was dyed such a charming, delicate shade of blue she hadn't been able to resist buying a few yards when she saw the bolt at the store. The white eyelet lace, though inexpensive, added a certain charm to the trim.   
  
There wasn't much time for Filia to do anything with her hair beyond brushing out the tangles, although she spared a few moments to pin it back with the barrette Jillas and Valgaav had bought her. Checking her reflection, she noted that at least the tiny sapphires set in the gold ivy pattern went well with her attire.   
  
Filia ran all the way down the hall to the front room before she remembered she forgot her shoes. Valgaav was standing in the corner shadows, wearing a dark, unreadable expression on his face as their eyes met. Before she could ask what was wrong, before she could turn around and run back to fetch her shoes, the door swung open, leaving her caught like a rabbit under the gaze of a wildcat.   
  
"Oneesan! You'll never guess who's here!" Jillas announced as he ran in.   
  
Filia only had time to blink before a young, feminine voice shouted her name, and she caught a glimpse of a flurry of white hurtling toward her in a massive pounce and hug. She staggered backwards, catching the girl, blinking in astonishment.   
  
"Amelia?"   
  
The young princess pulled back, grinning broadly and adjusted the small taira on her head. "I knew it was yours!"   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"I was two days travel away, on a diplomatic mission for Father, when I saw a woman wearing a headdress that was just all too familiar. I asked her a few questions and found out that this is where she bought it. We arrived late last night, and my guards asked around and found out about this shop. I was pretty sure it was yours, and I'm sorry for arriving so early, but I was too excited to wait!"   
  
Filia smiled warmly, this time prepared as Amelia hugged her again. The pressure of looking presentable for royalty was gone. Amelia wasn't the type to care about that. "It's good to see you. How have you been?"   
  
"Busy, terribly busy. I haven't seen any of you, or even heard hardly anything since we defeated Darkstar. How long has it been? Six months?"   
  
"Longer, I think," Filia said. "Won't you come in?"   
  
"I'm so glad to see you're doing well. I've been worried about how you're getting on. Have you seen any of the others?"   
  
"Well..." Filia hesitated. "In a manner of speaking. I haven't seen your companions, though."   
  
"I was surprised to see Jillas and Gravos," Amelia said, glancing to the two servants. "But it's so good to see you're not alone."   
  
"No, I'm not," Filia agreed, and glanced over to Valgaav, wondering how to handle this. She didn't need to, for Amelia followed her gaze.   
  
"Oh! Hi! I'm Princess Amelia Wil Tes--" She abruptly cut herself off, her eyes widening as she belatedly recognized him. "M-mister Valgaav!" she stammered.   
  
He just watched her coldly, his arms crossed, not moving from the corner.   
  
Filia bit her lip. "Amelia, this is, well, um, Valgaav, this is Amelia." Nervously, she toyed with her hair. "Things are different now."   
  
Amelia blinked again, nodding. "I'll say..."   
  
Valgaav just snorted, and stalked toward the kitchen. Filia had to fight down a wince as she heard the back door slam.   
  
"Gravos, Jillas? Could you two please tend to the shop this morning? Come, Amelia, let's get some tea. I think there's a lot I need to catch you up on."   
  


_to be continued..._   



	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Note to Readers:** Yay! No long wait for Chapter 15! If you missed it, I uploaded Chapter 14 a few days ago, finally, replacing the notification I had up before. If you haven't read it yet, go do so. ^_^   
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Fifteen

  
  
"And I suppose you could say the rest is history," Filia said, leaning back in her chair as she sipped her tea.   
  
"Wow," Amelia replied, her blue eyes wide and shining. "Just...wow." It was one of the rare moments that Filia could recall that the young princess sat in quite contemplation.   
  
The last twenty minutes had been spent filling in Amelia on the events that had transpired since they last saw one another. Well, most of the events, at any rate. Filia chose to leave out certain things, such the blossoming relationship between Valgaav and herself, and Xellos' disturbing intrusions.   
  
"That pretty much brings us to today," Filia said, and glanced up to reach for the teapot for a refill. As she did, she caught a faint glimpse of a lock of aqua hair just around the edge of the doorway behind Amelia. Quickly, she dropped her gaze, hoping her young guest didn't notice the momentary distraction and realize Valgaav was eavesdropping.   
  
Those wide-open eyes were too focused inward on her thoughts for Amelia to catch Filia's gaze. Then they closed as her mouth formed a happy, beaming smile almost too big for her young face. "It's so wonderful that there's been such a happy ending!" she exclaimed. Then as abruptly as she smiled, it vanished, replaced by a dark frown. "I have to admit it didn't feel very good to fight Mister Valgaav."   
  
Filia refilled Amelia's teacup. "Oh?"   
  
"What happened to him was completely unjust! If I had known what they had really done to the Ancient Dragons, I never would have helped rebuild the part of the temple that Miss Lina destroyed, let alone ate their food!"   
  
A fresh pang of guilt tugged at Filia's heart, and she struggled not to let it show on her face.   
  
"A champion of justice does not consort with such hein--" Hastily, Amelia fell silent, her eyes widening again as she bit her lip, remembering whom she was addressing. "Miss Filia, I'm so sorry," Amelia stammered as a mortified blush crept over her cheeks. "I didn't mean--"   
  
"Amelia," Filia interrupted, managing a gentle smile. She couldn't bring herself to let the girl's misplaced guilt eat away at her. There was nothing the young princess said that was untrue, or even a misstatement. "It's all right. You're right. They were wrong in their actions. Very, very wrong."   
  
The old Filia would have berated Amelia, she realized. She would have defended her clan with a fierce -- nay, a blind passion. She would have fought away her hurt by trying to turn the tables. She would have pointed out Amelia already associated with a heartless murderer, that namagomi Xellos. Quid pro quo.   
  
But looking at the girl's wounded, mortified expression, Filia couldn't bring herself to add to that. No, it was easier to swallow the sting of the unintended barbs, console Amelia's conscience, and pray that her own hurt did not lend itself to her tone.   
  
A motion caught her eye, and Filia glanced up to see that Valgaav had stepped out from around the doorway, his arms crossed, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed and cold. In the brief look they exchanged, she realized that it no longer mattered if Amelia had picked up on the battered hurt under Filia's voice.   
  
Valgaav had heard it, and that was enough.   
  
"A nice little speech," he growled before Amelia realized he was there, causing her to jump in her seat slightly, turning around. "Too bad it's bullshit."   
  
Filia hastily got to her feet. "Valgaav, wa--" In a flash, his hand was up, palm facing her, a gesture for her to stop, to be silent. Flinching, she bit her bottom lip.   
  
His eyes never left Amelia's, and she shrank back in her chair slightly as he stalked closer, his gaze hostile and predatory. "So, you feel badly for my fate, is that it?" he asked, his entire manner vitriolic. "Not badly enough, apparently, to even attempt to apologize for murdering the only friend I had for a thousand years."   
  
"Mist--" Amelia started to say, but he continued as if she hadn't spoken.   
  
"You condemn Filia for what she is, her race, yet you yourself associate with Xellos!" He spat out the name as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.   
  
"She wasn't--" Filia tried to say, moving around the table to intervene. Amelia was cringing back away from Valgaav, tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes.   
  
"Shut up," he growled. "This is my home too, and I refuse to allow this filth to sit there and lie, and insult you on top of it."   
  
"Stop it!" Filia shouted, grabbing his arm. His glare was icy as their eyes met. "That wasn't what she was doing at all!"   
  
"That pious little wench sat right there and said--"   
  
"Phibrizo killed Gaav!" Amelia shouted, getting to her feet and backing away hastily. "Not Miss Lina! It was Phibrizo! Gaav was _winning_ the fight against Miss Lina!"   
  
Valgaav's frigid glare snapped to Amelia and he shrugged out of Filia's grip, pushing Amelia's chair aside as he stalked toward her. "So you were allied with the Hellmaster?" he demanded.   
  
"No! Miss Lina was tricked! Phibrizo planted the information for Gaav that Miss Lina was working for him! He was using Miss Lina to lure out Gaav so he could kill him!" Amelia was clearly terrified, but she resolutely held her ground, refusing to break her gaze with Valgaav.   
  
He stopped walking, mere feet from her. Filia held her breath, her hands clasped and held to her chest, biting her lip.   
  
"How do I know that's the truth?" Valgaav growled.   
  
"Because it's unjust to lie," Amelia said quietly, her voice cracking as tears splashed down her cheeks. "Ask L-sama if you want. She's the one who killed Phibrizo for this."   
  
Valgaav hesitated, studying her.   
  
"We didn't...kill him," Amelia continued, her voice strained as she fought a losing battle against emotion. There was hurt in her eyes, and anger. "Gaav attacked us. He tried to kill _me_. Mister Zelgadis took the hit for me and almost died. Miss Lina cast the Ragna blade. It barely did _anything_ to him." Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. "That was when Phibrizo showed up. He snapped his fingers. That was all he had to do. He snapped his fingers and Gaav was dead. We did not kill him."   
  
Valgaav drew a deep breath and looked back to Filia. Before he could say anything, Amelia continued.   
  
"I know life hasn't been fair to you, but you are _not_ the only one who has ever lost somebody." She swiped at her cheeks in a vain attempt to brush away the tears. "I feel badly that you had to endure so much. I cannot stress enough just how unjust and wrong it was of the Golden Dragons, what they did to your people. But that does not give you carte blanche to cut down other people and try to make them feel bad just because you do! If hurting other people makes you happy, then you must really be overjoyed."   
  
She stood before him now, her wounded gaze calmly defiant as she looked up at him, and it was clearly a struggle to keep her speech coherent as her voice kept cracking under the weight of tears. "I did not mean to hurt Miss Filia. I did not kill Gaav. I did not want to fight you. I still don't. But I _won't_ let you belittle me just so you can feel better. You are not the only one who's lost people. My mother was _murdered_ when I was a child. Murdered. My sister's gone and we can't find her. You do _not_ hold exclusive rights to pain, so stop acting like you do."   
  
Filia watched the exchange in wide-eyed tension, scared of what might happen next. The dragon and the princess stood their ground, neither giving an inch as their eyes stayed locked.   
  
Valgaav was the first to break the gaze, looking down and to the side briefly before glancing back over his shoulder to Filia. His expression was unreadable to her. His eyes went back to Amelia, and then, without another word, he stalked out of the kitchen.   
  
Filia looked back and forth between Amelia and the doorway, unsure of what to do. The princess closed her eyes and sniffled, making a vague gesture with her hand.   
  
"Go to him." Her voice was weary, as if it belonged to someone older than the teenage girl, and she gave Filia a tired smile as she opened her eyes. "I'm okay. I think he needs you more right now."   
  
She hesitated a moment longer then nodded, hurrying out of the kitchen. Searching through the house, and then the surrounding grounds and shop, Filia began to worry when she couldn't find him. She paused only long enough to pull on her shoes, and ran out the front, hoping he had gone somewhere in town. As she hurried away from the house, Filia turned around, glancing over the area, and then she spotted him, sitting on the roof, his back to the street below, looking out over the stretch of town behind the house.   
  
"Valgaav!" she called, running back to the house, getting as close as she could without losing sight of him. He gave no indication he heard her. "Baka males." Going back inside, she went up to the attic, and carefully climbed out the window, grabbing the edge of the roof and pulled herself up.   
  
So much for dignity. The rough tiles didn't offer that much in the way of a handhold, and she barely got her elbows up on the roof to brace herself. With some degree of success, she managed to swing a foot up onto the roof, but ran into trouble when she attempted to bring the other one up to join it. Her shoe dropped off her foot, falling to the ground below, and she flailed helplessly, stuck.   
  
Valgaav watched her impassively, then looked away. "Go back inside, Filia," he ordered.   
  
"But I'm--"   
  
"Leave me alone."   
  
She narrowed her eyes in determination. "Levitation!" Forget climbing. The spell caught her up and set her down on the roof as gently as a feather. He rolled his eyes and shifted position, turning his back to her. "Valgaav?"   
  
"I said leave me alone."   
  
"Forget it. You've been left alone too many times by too many people for far too long. I'm not going to be your enabler."   
  
He shot her a look that would have been venomous if it wasn't lacking in something somewhere.   
  
"Are you okay?"   
  
That question earned her an exasperated huff. "Filia, I appreciate it, I really do, but just...just go away."   
  
It took all her willpower not to show him how much that hurt. Filia was quiet for a few moments, then looked back to him. "I love you," she whispered.   
  
He shut his eyes quickly, drawing in a small, sharp breath and holding it. Then, without opening his eyes, Valgaav reached out and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a fierce hug, burying his face against her hair. Filia reached up and rested her hand lightly against his cheek.   
  
"I wish I knew what to say."   
  
"Don't," he replied softly. "Don't say anything, please?" There was a faint, but plaintive note lacing his voice that made her heart ache. He hugged her tighter.   
  
Filia nodded slightly, closing her eyes as she continued to hold him, oblivious to the uncomfortable, rough tile that served as her seat, and to the awkward position she was sitting in. For the moment, the only thing that really mattered was the dragon beside her.   
  


* * *

  
"Your highness? Is everything all right?"   
  
Amelia raised her head off her arms, looking up from the table at the diplomatic attaché sent along by Seyruun's prime minister. "Everything's fine," she told him, fighting down a deep sigh as she rubbed her hands over her eyes, brushing off the grainy residue of dried tears.   
  
He regarded her skeptically. "Shall we depart for Seyruun now?"   
  
It was a tempting prospect. Run home, run to her father, hug him for dear life until the ache went away. Slip out of the house before anyone knew she was gone, and retreat behind the sanctuary of the castle walls.   
  
But that was a cowardly way out, and certainly not a course of action befitting of a champion of justice, or for the crown princess of Seyruun. Maybe she was overstaying her welcome, but after her own words and actions that morning, they deserved the chance for closure, at the very least.   
  
"No," she said at last, watching as his back stiffened, a displeased expression shadowing his eyes.   
  
"But, your highness..."   
  
"I said no, and I mean it."   
  
They stared one another down for a few minutes before he relented in poor grace. "Very well, your highness. I shall await you in the carriage."   
  
"Yeah. You do that." Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples wearily. The attaché made no secret of the fact he thought little of her dealings in the past, or the company she had kept.   
  
_Really! _he had exclaimed in the carriage during their traveling, _it's hardly proper for the Crown Princess of Seyruun to consort with a sorceress. You shouldn't expose yourself to the likes of them. And traveling with a Mazoku, and that...that...chimera! Really, your Highness. What **were** you thinking? You're lucky you escaped from them unaccosted._   
  
The tirade Amelia had launched into then served to keep him quiet for at least a day and a half afterwards.   
  
It was funny. She was now slightly older than Lina was when she first met the sorceress, but it felt as though a lifetime had passed. So often during her travels, she had fought down bouts of homesickness, longing for the familiar comforts of Seyruun, and now that she had them...   
  
_Be careful what you wish for_, she thought wryly, missing the old days of grand adventure, and her friends. She found herself missing things about them that had driven her up the wall before. Miss Lina's formidable appetite and temper, Mister Gourry's weak memory, Mister Xellos' cunning way of making things interesting.   
  
And everything about Mister Zelgadis.   
  
Looking at her wrist, she toyed with her lone bracelet, separated from its twin. She wondered if he still had it, or if he had tossed it aside once they were out of one another's sight. When she told him he would always be welcome in Seyruun, when she asked, almost begged him to come visit her, there was something in his voice, in his eyes. Even though he said he would, the vagueness of his reply told Amelia otherwise.   
  
She had hoped against hope that perhaps Miss Filia had seen him in the meantime, although she hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Thinking back over their conversation, Amelia reluctantly admitted that it was very likely she hadn't.   
  
Still, hope springs eternal.   
  
Why was she so wrapped up in him? Amelia opened her eyes wide, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to force her eyes to dry before the tears escaped, pressing her lips in a thin line. He never gave any indication he thought of her as anything more than a little sister at best. How foolish had she seemed to him that day, insisting he take her bracelet?   
  
Amelia didn't regret it, though. If he did keep it, then at least, hopefully, he wouldn't forget her. Even if he never loved her back, the thought of him forgetting her completely hurt a hundred times more.   
  
Approaching footsteps snapped her out of her musings, and she hastily wiped at her eyes, brushing away any lingering traces of tears as she glanced to the doorway.   
  
"How are you feeling?" Filia asked as she walked in. Amelia noticed the dirt smudged down the front of her dress, and wondered what happened.   
  
"I'm all right," Amelia assured her, then hesitated. "Valgaav?"   
  
"He's..." Filia paused, clearly considering what to say. "He has a lot of things on his mind."   
  
Amelia nodded, wincing a little. "I'm sorry, I really didn't--"   
  
"It's all right. I...I think he probably needed to hear that. Whether or not he wanted to."   
  
She nodded again, studying her hands. "Will he be back?"   
  
"Eventually." Filia sat down next to her. "But while you're here? I kind of doubt it." Filia reached over and clasped a hand over Amelia's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't take it too personally, please. He has a lot to work through. I know. It's very hard to believe passionately in something, and find out that what you believed is a lie."   
  
"I'm glad he has you, then," Amelia said softly. "It's always good to have to have someone who understands you."   
  
"In that case, I'm infinitely grateful to have him," Filia replied. "I really don't know how I'd be today if it weren't for these three. Especially Valgaav." They sat quietly for a few minutes, then Filia spoke again. "So, tell me, how has life been treating you?"   
  
"Busy," Amelia admitted wryly. "I jumped at the chance to go on this excursion, even though I really do hate fostering diplomatic relations. Anything to get out of the castle, back on the road again."   
  
"Missing the old days?"   
  
"Oh, Miss Filia, you have no idea," Amelia said. "I was hoping to run into some of you on this trip. I had to travel several days out of my way to get here, but it was worth it."   
  
"You haven't seen anyone else?"   
  
"No." Amelia found herself toying with her bracelet subconsciously, and fought down a blush, feeling Filia's gaze on her.   
  
"You were looking for someone in particular, weren't you?"   
  
"Not exactly _looking_..."   
  
"Just hoping."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Don't give up," Filia told her. "Once, I thought that the best I could ever possibly hope for was that maybe Valgaav would at least come to tolerate me somewhat."   
  
Amelia looked at her.   
  
Filia smiled gently. "It turns out the best was far beyond my wildest dreams."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
She blushed faintly, looking down with a slight shrug. "I love him," Filia answered simply, and looked back up to Amelia. "And he loves me."   
  
Amelia fought against the sudden, sharp sting of tears, smiling broadly as she got to her feet, hugging the dragon lady tightly. "Oh, Miss Filia, that's so wonderful!"   
  
Filia hugged her back. "It is. But that's why you shouldn't give up hope. If you love him, there's always a chance."   
  
Amelia stood straighter, looking at her. "I'll remember that, Miss Filia."   
  
"And also remember, not everything will land on your lap. Sometimes, you'll have to work for it. But just don't give up."   
  
"Thank you," Amelia told her, and meant it. Then she hesitated as she sat down again. "If you happen to see him..."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Would you, um, I don't know, maybe nag him a bit?"   
  
Filia smiled warmly. "I'll see what I can do."   
  
"Thank you." Amelia frowned, considering something as she picked up her teacup. "You _do_ know who I'm talking about, don't you?"   
  
"Of course!" Filia said as Amelia started to drink. "Mister Gourry."   
  
Amelia choked on the tea, spraying it on the table as she started coughing hard, staring at Filia in shock. 

The dragon was giggling helplessly. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. I meant Mister Zelgadis." 

Amelia closed her eyes, exhaling sharply and tiredly before looking at Filia with a small smirk. "Yes, Mister Zelgadis." She shook her head. "Not Mister Gourry. Not at all. Besides, if I felt that way about Mister Gourry, Miss Lina would fireball me into the next country." 

Filia grinned, then stood. "Would you care for a tour of the place?"   
  
"Would I? Lead the way, Miss Filia, please."   
  


_to be continued..._   



	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Note to Readers:** Valgaav hates me right now. ::beams::   
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Sixteen

  
  
He hated the way he was feeling. First, he'd felt angry. Then guilty. Then angry because he felt guilty. Then guilty because he felt angry. It was a vicious, neverending circle that was more than enough to drive a dragon insane.   
  
Above it all, Valgaav didn't want to believe that perky little princess. But no matter how desperately hard he tried to convince himself that it was a lie, there had just been something in her eyes, her voice, in the very story, that rang softly of truth. He could try every trick he knew to drown it out, but it was still there, quietly tapping away, refusing to be ignored.   
  
After Filia went back inside, he had left the house, heading into town to find things to do, killing time so he didn't wind up feeling inclined to kill princesses. Jillas had retrieved a pair of shoes and a comb for him, as well as a list of things they needed in town. If he was going to be out and about, he might as well do something somewhat productive.   
  
First stop was the bakery, a good fifteen minute walk from the shop. If it hadn't been for Filia's presence, he never would have walked away from Amelia, at least not before tearing into her, either figuratively or literally. But he would never, ever hurt Filia, not even through association, and that was exactly what was happening. The look in Filia's eyes said a hundred times more to him than anything Amelia had said.   
  
So he walked away.   
  
Valgaav had expected her to follow him. He hadn't _wanted_ her to, but he did expect it. But he had thought she'd leave him alone if he told her to go.   
  
It wasn't until she told him that she loved him that his walls formed cracks, and the realization that he wasn't quite sure what would happen to him if she _did_ go slammed into him with tremendous force. He realized just how disorienting it was, believing in something with every fiber of his being, only to find out it was all a lie. And he couldn't quite comprehend how Filia managed to hold on to nothing all that time and get through that darkness.   
  
He did not deserve her. He could just hope that L-sama would be merciful and never let Filia realize that.   
  
Walking through the crowded marketplace, he stumbled as someone collided with him. With a snarl, he looked over to see who it was, and saw a young woman crouching, putting things back in a basket. She had waist-long dark hair with a rich purple-black sheen, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were closed in a cheerful smile.   
  
"I'm so sorry, sir," she apologized. "My mind must be on other matters." Picking up her basket, she stood. "Are you quite all right?"   
  
Valgaav did not like this woman one bit, but he couldn't pin his finger down on why. Maybe it was that too-cheerful smile which reminded him of the princess. "I'm fine. Watch where you're going next time." He started to turn away, then glanced back to her. "Maybe if you opened your eyes you could actually see where you're going."   
  
She opened her eyes slightly, looking at him through her long lashes, and her lips curved into a coy little smile that didn't match her innocent appearance. "I'll bear that in mind," she said, turning away from him and moving back into the crowd.   
  
Valgaav started back on his course when he froze, his head whipping around to look at the woman. Had he detected shades of amethyst peeking out through those lashes? Standing on his toes, he looked over everyone's heads, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman, but she was already gone.   
  
An icy-cold chill frosted over his spine, and he looked at all the other faces around him intently, wondering if that woman had been Xellos, wondering if any of these other faces were him. He couldn't feel the Mazoku, but that didn't mean he wasn't there.   
  
As he continued to the bakery, his nerves felt frayed, as if the slightest sudden motion or noise would send him into combat readiness. Was it Xellos? Was it just a case of paranoia?   
  
Faintly, very faintly, he could feel fingers brushing over his hair, the slightest pull of strands catching on textures, smoothing and tugging, sending icy shivers down his nerves. He spun around, eyes intently snapping from face to face, trying to discern who just touched him. Eyes met his. Confused eyes, bewildered eyes, even hostile eyes, but no Mazoku eyes.   
  
Maybe he was going a little overboard with the paranoia. Forcing himself to calm down, he walked into the bakery, trying to keep from looking at everyone as a potential threat. Valgaav made the selections and purchases, carrying the wrapped loaves and rolls out of the store. The next stop was back at the house; he could give the breads to Jillas to take inside.   
  
Valgaav's posture was more aggressively defensive now as he started back. Holding the package to him. Shoulders hunched slightly in anticipation of attack. Eyes cutting through the crowd warily, intently. Hyperaware of everyone and everything around him. Looking for suspicions, praying he didn't find them.   
  
Was he that young boy who had cut in front of him, chasing a ball? That dark-haired siren, barely visible in the shadowy depths of the alleyway, leaning on the wall, watching the crowds go by, looking away, ignoring the world's oldest profession? The old beggar, the ratty scrap of material tied over his eyes, sitting by the wall, cup outstretched? Was it his imagination, or did that beggar somehow look right at him?   
  
Was he that blue-haired grandmother who somehow managed to stay right in front of him as Valgaav tried to get through a particularly crowded area, walking slowly? The man who cut him off, darting in front of him to duck into a shop? The flowergirl on the corner, with a basket full of violet bouquets?   
  
Or was he simply being ridiculous?   
  
The royal coach was still parked outside. A thin, dour-faced man with a pinched expression, clad in what Valgaav thought to be a rather epicene style of dress, stood by the coach, looking at the shop with a surly expression. He wore a crest on his clothes that matched the carriage, and the look he shot Valgaav suggested that the dragon was nothing more to him than something to be scraped off the bottom of his boot.   
  
Valgaav curled his lip back in a slight snarl, then he checked through the windows quickly to make sure Amelia and Filia were nowhere in sight. Jillas spotted him and extracted himself from a customer, hurrying to the door.   
  
"Welcome back, Lord Valgaav."   
  
"I'm just dropping this off." He put the package of breads in Jillas' arms. "What's Prince Perky's deal?" he asked, inclining his head toward the coach slightly.   
  
"Oh, him. Some attaché that was sent along with the princess." Jillas' tone didn't suggest he thought much of the man either. "He's a bit full of himself, isn't he?"   
  
"Well, he's full of _something_, that's for sure." Valgaav looked around. "Have you seen or heard anything suspicious or out of the ordinary this morning?"   
  
"Aside from the princess' arrival and the ensuing crowds? No." Jillas tilted his head, cocking one ear slightly. "Why?"   
  
"I'm just being paranoid. It's a long story. Still, keep an eye on her, will ya?"   
  
"I always have, my lord."   
  
"Any clue when she's getting out of here?"   
  
"Not a one."   
  
Valgaav sighed. "I'll be back later."   
  
"Would you like us to drive her off, Lord Va--"   
  
"No." He shook his head. "Leave her be. That's an order."   
  
"As you wish, my lord."   
  


* * *

  
Valgaav arrived at the market square, where the farmers had set up their carts with produce and other goods. A small patch of earth had been cleared out back behind the house for a garden, but it was already too late in the year for them to try to plant anything. Filia was expending finances, buying up various fruits and vegetables, canning them for the upcoming winter. Both Filia and Amelia were mistaken on the time, but he could see how. It felt like the battle of Darkstar had been much longer than a mere four months ago.   
  
It was there in the mornings, the traces of it, the whispers of cold in the chill of the dew. It was there in the cry of the geese, as they began their yearly retreat to warmer climes. It was there in the crispness of the air at dawn. But for now, it was just a promise. Orchards outside the village were still lush in their foliage, their branches heavy with red and golden apples. Berries held the plump luster of ripeness, and the afternoon air was warm and rich with the aroma of harvest, of the fresh-cut hay in the nearby fields.   
  
He looked over the list of purchases, and sought out some of the local harvest's bounty. A bushel of apples, a basket of cranberries, a bushel of corn, still wrapped in their green husks and sporting browning tassels. He purchased several bushels of potatoes, and arranged for them all to be delivered.   
  
A trip to the butcher's was next in line. The three of them had assured Filia that they would be able to stock up with wild game, but there were a few things which didn't fall under that category. A calf's head for headcheese. Lean-cut beef and beef kidney suet for mincemeat. Bacon and sausage. Pork shoulder and hamhocks for scrapple.   
  
He was too preoccupied with mentally calculating how much funds he had left on him to catch himself in time when someone clumsily careened into him. Valgaav yelped in surprise and staggered, reflexively reaching out to catch himself, only to grab a cart and upturn it, sending eggs spilling out, falling to the cobblestones, shattering.   
  
The sight of the splattered yolks and whites over the stones ripped the air from his lungs, causing his stomach to lurch as he choked back the urge to retch. Scrambling to his feet, he braced his hand on the ground, and felt a soft, yet sickening give under his hand. Pulling it back, he found an egg that had slipped through whatever means the farmer used to determine whether or not it was fertilized.   
  
He barely registered the farmer shouting at him as he shuddered violently, clawing at his hand, brushing off the avian embryo, hyperventilating. The shouts and the voices; what was past and what was present? He couldn't tell. They were all overlapping, too fast to discern any difference between.   
  
Desperately fighting down the sick heaves in his stomach, clinging to what precious little shards of the present he could find, Valgaav pulled free from the farmer's grip, ignoring the shouts of protest, and staggered off, shouldering his way through the gathering crowd.   
  
He had to get away. The air was too thick to breathe.   
  
He had to get away. He couldn't see that anymore, yet the sight was scorched into his mind.   
  
They had broken them against the smooth stone floors of the hatchery. Shattered the dusky, speckled shells, stomped on the fluid-covered, bloody embryos.   
  
He couldn't think about that anymore.   
  
He wouldn't.   
  
It was too dark there. Too dark.   
  
Away from the crowd. The noise. Quieter here. He dropped to his knees in the narrow, forlorn alleyway, digging his fingers into the grime, clinging to reality.   
  
Breathe.   
  
Don't think.   
  
Don't remember.   
  
Don't look back. Don't look over the shoulder. Don't look to the doorway. Don't see what comes next.   
  
Forget.   
  
Breathe.   
  
He could still smell the shattered eggs. Unable to fight it anymore, too preoccupied with fighting down the memories, fighting them back, locking them away, too intent on not remembering, he didn't care. His stomach heaved, protesting against the sickened sensation which settled there, borne from harried nerves.   
  
From pain.   
  
From too dark a day.   
  
Breathe.   
  
Breathe.   
  
Breathe.   
  
Finally, the storm passed. The memories retreated back into their deep, dark corner of his mind. The emotions quit threatening to break down the dam, to sweep him under in their tidal wave.   
  
He could breathe.   
  
His limbs were as shaky as a newborn's, the adrenaline having spent his energy. He shivered uncontrollably as a light breeze wafted over his skin, evaporating the sweat which soaked him.   
  
Trembling, Valgaav pushed away, rolling back to sit, sagging against the wall, holding his head in his hands.   
  
Breathe.   
  
He became aware of someone then, standing a few feet down deeper the narrow alley. His head snapped up, his gaze traveling up the interloper.   
  
It was the strumpet he had seen earlier that morning. Her long black dress was thin, and clung to every curve, barely worth its function in concealing anything. Her hair was dark, and in the shadows of the alley, that was all he could discern. It was cut straight and short, a pageboy trim that grazed her jaw. Her eyes were downcast, and all he could see were the lids, painted a smoky hue, and the thick lashes that brushed her cheeks.   
  
"A bit too early in the morning for one to get this drunk," she chided, her voice husky.   
  
"I'm not drunk," he retorted, his voice hoarse, and stared at her suspiciously.   
  
"Whatever the reason, that farmer you upset? He's gone off to demand payment from Miss Filia for the eggs which you broke."   
  
"Someone pushed me!" he retorted. "I didn't--" Abruptly, he cut himself off, his eyes widening as he stared at the woman, scrambling to his feet. Since when did prostitutes bother to address someone so politely?   
  
The woman raised her eyes to meet his, and he felt as though someone punched him in the chest, wondering why he was so surprised at the narrow, slitted amethyst ovals staring at him with a cunning light.   
  
"You," Valgaav growled. "It was you who pushed me!"   
  
Xellos' red-painted lips curled upward in a smile of malicious glee. "Sore wa himitsu desu."   
  
"Bastard!" Valgaav shouted, lunging at him before reason could make itself heard.   
  
Xellos blinked out of existence, appearing a few feet further back from his former location, this time in his more familiar visage.   
  
"You dragons and your tempers," he said cheerfully. "I wonder how Miss Filia will like to hear of your little episode."   
  
"Stay away from her," Valgaav snarled, his hands curved into claws, wanting nothing more than to rip that Mazoku to shreds.   
  
"Perhaps once upon a time, you might have had the resources to make that order somewhat less laughable, but not anymore." Xellos shot him a sadistic little smile and vanished.   
  
"You chickenshit!" Valgaav screamed, and punched the wall in rage before turning about to leave the alley. Something smacked him in the face lightly, and he blinked, stepping back to see what it was.   
  
It was a rag doll, with long hair of yellow yarn, wearing a pink dress, blue buttons sewn onto the face for eyes. It was suspended in midair by a length of rope knotted into a hangman's noose, and splattered with blood. Air congealed in his lungs, and his mouth turned dry for a minute at the clear-cut threat to Filia, then he snarled viciously, striking it as he knocked it from the air.   
  
It exploded in a spray of blackish-purple ichor, and the air reverberated with a woman's scream, so intense it iced over his blood. Precious seconds were wasted gathering his wits, and then he bolted from the alley, running headlong through the marketplace in a staccato pattern, trying to avoid the masses of bodies and merchandise while trying not to slow down.   
  
He didn't stop until he burst through the kitchen door, interrupting whatever was going on. Filia and Amelia were talking to the farmer, and wide-eyed gazes snapped to him as he charged in.   
  
"Where is he?!" Valgaav demanded before any of them could recover.   
  
Filia blinked. "He who?"   
  
"That damned Mazoku!"   
  
The farmer's eyes widened. "Th-there's a Mazoku here?"   
  
"No!" Filia hastily assured him, but it lost its impact as Valgaav had snapped the contrary at the same time.   
  
"Yes, no, which it is?"   
  
"There's nothing to worry about," Filia said, shooting Valgaav a glare that made him bite his tongue, but didn't stop him from storming out of the kitchen, doing a quick search of the other rooms.   
  


* * *

  
"What was that about a Mazoku being here?" the farmer asked.   
  
"It's a long story, but there isn't one here, and there's nothing to worry about," Filia assured him, glancing at the doorway. "Again, I apologize for the loss of goods."   
  
"Well, ain't like you didn't pay for 'em, I suppose. I'd best be getting back. Good day, ma'am, your highness." He nodded to the two women, and Filia ushered him out the door, sagging against it as she closed it.   
  
"What's going on?" Amelia asked.   
  
"A long story. Maybe this isn't the best time. I appreciate your help settling that debt. I should be able to pay it back in full by--"   
  
"Don't worry about it," Amelia said. "I've paid a lot more for just one of Miss Lina's dinners. Is Mister Valgaav okay?"   
  
"I think--" She cut herself off as he stalked back in, amber eyes wild, his hair in disarray and matted with sweat, yolk, and a blackish substance she couldn't identify. His clothes were covered in the same yolk and substance, as well as smeared with grime.   
  
"What on earth is the matter with you?" Filia demanded, putting her hands on her hips as Amelia backed up away from them. "What happened to you?"   
  
"Xellos pushed me into that farmer's cart," Valgaav snapped, "and he's threatened to kill you!"   
  
"Mister Xellos would never do that!" Amelia said in an astonished tone.   
  
"Get yer head out of the sand, princess," Valgaav retorted. "He'd do a hell of a lot more than that."   
  
"Valgaav, maybe you should get cleaned up and calm down and we can talk about this?" Filia suggested. "He's not here-"   
  
"Yes, he is!" Valgaav shouted, covering the distance to Filia in several quick strides. He grabbed her upper arms, trying to get her full attention. "Listen to me! He pushed me into that cart and he made a rag doll effigy of you and hung it!"   
  
Filia blinked, focusing mostly on trying not to wince. His grip on her arms was tight, painfully so, and she suspected it would leave bruises. "Valgaav, okay, just calm down, please..."   
  
His grip tightened even more, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, which turned out to be a bad move as he gave her a little shake. "You're not even listening to me!"   
  
"Yes, I am, I just think you need to calm down and clean--"   
  
"Damnit!" Valgaav shoved her away from him hard enough that she stumbled, catching herself against the table.   
  
"Miss Filia!"   
  
"I'm okay, Amelia. Valgaav, just--"   
  
"He's here!"   
  
"In town?"   
  
"No, in this house! Don't you sense him?!"   
  
He was really starting to scare her. His eyes were wild, aggressive, paranoid, restless. His motions were predatory, stalking restlessly back and forth in front of the doorway as he watched her.   
  
"I don't," she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady and even. If she stayed calm, maybe she could reason with him.   
  
With a vicious snarl, he punched the wall, putting his fist through the wood, and Filia jumped.   
  
"Amelia, this isn't the best time right now. Maybe you should go."   
  
"But, Miss Filia? Will you be all right?" Amelia asked worriedly.   
  
"Are you trying to imply I can't protect her?" Valgaav snapped.   
  
Both women stared at him.   
  
"Amelia, I'll be fine," Filia said.   
  
"If you're sure..." The princess didn't sound convinced. "I'll stay in touch."   
  
"Have a safe journey home, Amelia," Filia said, still not taking her eyes off Valgaav, "and good luck."   
  
"Thank you, Miss Filia. You too." Quietly, the young princess slipped out of the house.   
  
"You don't believe me," Valgaav growled softly.   
  
"I believe that you believe it," Filia replied, "and I believe something did happen. That's why I'm suggesting that you take a few minutes to clean up and collect yourself so we can discuss this rationally."   
  
"Rationally, my ass!"   
  
"Valgaav."   
  
"I'm telling you, that is what happened."   
  
"All right. I believe you. Now calm down. Please?"   
  
"I'm just trying to keep you safe."   
  
His voice had suddenly dropped to such a sad little whisper that it broke Filia's heart to hear it. "I know you are," she gently replied, approaching him, lightly resting her hand against his cheek. He closed his eyes, reaching up to hold her hand to him, nuzzling it lightly. "Go get cleaned up. I'll make us some tea."   
  
"Get Gravos in here with you."   
  
"I'll be--"   
  
"Please?"   
  
Filia studied him, then nodded. "I will."   
  


_to be continued..._   



	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Note to Readers:** This chapter's fairly dark in parts. Just a warning. Valgaav _**REALLY**_ hates me now.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Seventeen

  
  
It felt like it had taken him forever to wash the varied substances from him and out of his hair. But as he quickly dressed in clean clothes, Valgaav had to admit that he felt marginally less tense. His anger slowly redirected until a good portion of it was toward himself for obviously playing right into Xellos' hands, reacting in the way the Mazoku wanted.  
  
With his mind a bit clearer, Valgaav set off through the house, looking for Filia. True to her word, Gravos was in the living room with her, sitting on the sofa. Filia was at her desk, and he could hear the scratch of the quill over paper, stopping frequently as she wrote, either to think, or to dip the quill back into the inkwell.  
  
She looked up when she heard Gravos greet him, and looked away long enough to cap the well and wipe her hands free from the ink before standing. Gravos excused himself, and Valgaav began to approach her, stopping a few feet away, watching her carefully.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, and his heart seemed to stick in his throat when she made no move to close the distance.  
  
"Better," he managed to say, and added, "calmer."  
  
Filia nodded slightly, then moved toward him, resting her hands on his chest. "I'm so sorry you had such a rough morning."  
  
"I didn't scare you, did I?"  
  
"No." She answered a little quickly, and when he looked at her, she lowered her gaze, a faint blush forming on her cheeks. "Well, a little, but mostly on your behalf," she admitted.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Filia. I just..."  
  
"Shh." Her fingertip rested against his lips briefly as she looked up, silencing him. "It's okay. What happened?"  
  
"I..." He paused, faltering a bit, and led her over to the sofa. "It's a long story."  
  
"I've got time," she assured him, sitting on his lap and draping her arms around his neck, running her fingers gently through his wet, aqua hair, detangling it.  
  
He locked his arms around her waist loosely, and began to recap the morning as he stared into the fireplace. He told her about the incidents in the square, the people, the growing paranoia.  
  
He told her about someone bumping into him, causing him to fall against the egg cart.   
  
Then he altered the events slightly, or at least some of the causes. He told her that he thought he saw Xellos, and that was why he ran.  
  
He couldn't tell her about the hatchery. Not about the atrocities her own people had committed. It would hurt her.  
  
And it would hurt him to remember it.  
  
He told her about the prostitute that was actually Xellos, and about the rag doll fashioned to resemble her, hanging by a noose from nothing in midair. He told her about the explosion when he struck it, and the scream.  
  
"All I could think was that you were in danger, Filia." He looked up at her then, finally meeting her eyes, which he noted with no small measure of relief were full of sympathy and understanding. "I'm sorry for disrupting your visit."  
  
"It's all right," Filia assured him softly. "We were making our good-byes anyway."  
  
He didn't quite believe her, but let it drop. "How far in the hole are we?" he asked, his voice low, turning his eyes back to the fire. He knew Filia fretted about finances often. She had never had to worry about that before. Anything she needed, the temple had provided. There was always the security of having shelter, clothes, food.  
  
That was gone. Valgaav knew they were well enough off, but a true financial emergency would be a very real crisis. Even if Xellos had caused the accident, they were still liable.  
  
"We're not."  
  
Valgaav looked back to her. "What?"  
  
"Amelia gave us some insurance. A signet ring with the royal seal. If we ever get in a bind, she'll help."  
  
Valgaav wasn't quite certain what to think. On one hand, he was immensely relieved to hear that the incident hadn't put them in financial hot water. On the other, he was disconcerted at the thought of relying on one of Inverse's friends and one who was party to Gaav's murder for anything.  
  
No, not Gaav's murder. He lay his head on Filia's shoulder, closing his eyes. Had it really been only that morning when he found out the truth? If that _was_ the truth, anyway.  
  
He could hear the distant church bells chiming out the hour. Twelve. Was it really only noon? Too much had happened, and the day was already too long.  
  
Filia's head rested against his, holding him gently. As the twelfth chime faded away, she pulled back a bit to look at him.  
  
"You look exhausted," she said softly, stroking the back of her hand against his cheek, lightly brushing her knuckles over the scars.  
  
"I didn't get much rest last night," he admitted.  
  
"Then why don't you lay for a bit? I'll be with Jillas and Gravos tending the shop."  
  
Valgaav hesitated. Part of him felt still too far wound up to be able to fall asleep, but the emotional wringer of the last twelve hours topped off by the adrenaline surge had left him feeling completely drained.  
  
"I'll try," he told her. Filia nodded and gave him a light kiss, but when she tried to stand, he kept his arms securely around her, and met her questioning gaze. "I don't know how I'm going to manage this," he said, his voice low as he reached up to rest his hand against her cheek, "but I'm going to keep you safe. I _cannot_ lose you too."  
  
Her expression grew tender. "I know," she whispered.  
  
He buried his face against her neck, holding her to him tightly as a million errant thoughts, brief and fleeting, flooded his mind. How he didn't deserve her. Treating her as he had, he was just as guilty of the same prejudices as the dragons that slaughtered his people. He had forced her to summon Darkstar, and even at the end, she has waited almost too long to agree to fight him.  
  
Valgaav wouldn't have blamed her if she left him there to die. She used her own life energy to ensure his survival, and he treated her abominably in exchange. For all the times he'd made her cry, she still found it possible to look at him with love. He couldn't let her down. Not with this. He wouldn't fail her as he'd failed everyone else.  
  
He just wished he knew _how_ he'd manage it.  
  
It was the exhaustion talking, he knew, that made everything feel even worse than it really was. Too much had gone down that day, and sapped his strength with it.  
  
He didn't want to let go of her -- now or ever. Somehow, though, his arms finally relaxed their iron grip, allowing her to move back, to stand. She leaned over and kissed him softly as he lay down, and pulled the folded blanket on the back of the sofa over him.  
  
"I'll be in the shop," she whispered, "but if you need me, just call."  
  
"If I need you?" he echoed, reaching up to brush her cheek. "Would the rest of my life be too long for that?"  
  
Filia's cheeks took on a faint, pink tint, but she smiled softly. "It doesn't sound nearly long enough." She kissed him softly. "Rest now. I'll wake you for supper."  
  


* * *

  
It was still light out when he awoke, feeling as though he'd hardly rested at all. Valgaav rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to pin down what had pulled him from sleep. Faintly, he could make out voices, and recognized one of them as Filia's. The other, though... It was feminine, and definitely familiar, but he couldn't pin it down.  
  
Curiosity brought him to his feet, and he stopped just shy of the kitchen door, listening. Their voices were still too indistinct for him to make out the conversation, but yet they sounded perfectly clear as far as volume went. Looking inside, he saw Filia seated at the table, chatting amicably with a dark-haired woman.  
  
Filia's lips were moving, and her voice was clear, but he still couldn't make out the words. Frowning in confusion, he approached the table, apparently unnoticed by either of them until he stopped.  
  
"Do you think one of my relatives might have killed her?" Filia looked up at him, her words falling into the same clarity as her voice. Valgaav just blinked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We were talking. It's certainly possible."  
  
"We..?" He looked to the brunette, and staggered back in shock as amber-colored draconian eyes met his, and the lips below curled into an all-too-familiar smile.  
  
"It's funny to see you in love with a Golden, Val," Caitarina said. "Irony's always been a strong point of yours."  
  
"Really?" Filia asked her.  
  
"Oh yes," Caitarina replied, turning her attention back to Filia, and started to tell her a story about Valgaav.  
  
"Caitarina?" he gasped, moving toward her.  
  
"What is it, Val?" she asked, somewhat impatiently. "Can't you see I'm talking?"  
  
"What..? How?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're that damned Mazoku!"  
  
"What? Oh, don't be silly. Would a Mazoku know you abandoned Jatlini after you promised to watch out for him?" she asked, smirking.  
  
"He really did that?" Filia shook her head and sipped her tea. "Tsk. Well, isn't that just like him? Never there when he's needed."  
  
"I know," Caitarina replied. "He never follows through on any of his promises."  
  
"That is not true!" Valgaav shouted.  
  
"Well, I think Caitarina has a point," Filia told him, and he just stared at her in shock. "After all, you let your whole family, your whole race die. You couldn't save Gaav. You didn't purify the world, and you've never been there whenever Xellos came after me."  
  
"I won't let him hurt you!"  
  
"Of course you won't," Caitarina sneered. "Just like how you didn't let the Goldens kill me." She looked back to Filia. "Wouldn't it just be funny if it was a relative of yours who butchered me?"  
  
Filia giggled. "Yes, it would! We could say we really do have blood ties!"  
  
Caitarina laughed as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.  
  
Valgaav staggered backward, shaking his head. "This is insane..."  
  
"No, dear," Filia said. "You're what's insane. I mean, that display in the market today? Shameful."  
  
"Oh! This sounds positively horrible!" Caitarina's eyes twinkled in glee. "Do tell. What did our dear Val do?"  
  
"Why, don't you know? He broke eggs."  
  
Caitarina gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, looking at Valgaav suspiciously. "Makes you wonder now why he survived. And he's with a Golden now..."  
  
He gaped at her. "You can't be serious?! You can't be implying that I was in league with--"  
  
"You know, that's a very good point," Filia agreed, talking as if he wasn't there. Shaking his head, Valgaav turned around and ran out the door to the shop, looking for Jillas or Gravos.  
  
And stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
Instead of a pottery and weapons shop, instead of a bustling village, he stood in the middle of a desert, hills of golden sand as far as the eye could see. Then, he realized they weren't hills at all, but sand sculptures, and there was a cheerful whistling from nearby.  
  
Jillas was kneeling in the sand, painstakingly sculpting the face of a dragon, the features visibly Golden, and Valgaav realized he was surrounded by them.  
  
"What...what are you doing?" he snarled at Jillas, feeling tense, nervous.  
  
"I'm making a family for Oneesan," Jillas replied. "She's safer with them."  
  
"With who?"  
  
"The Goldens."  
  
"But they're dead!"  
  
"They won't be when I get done. You can't keep her safe."  
  
"You think they will?"  
  
"Anybody can do a better job than you, Lord Valgaav. Even me. See? I found a way to keep her safe."  
  
"You think these damnable sand sculptures will do anything?" Valgaav shouted.  
  
"Well, once they can move." Jillas gave the carved neck a friendly pat and stood.  
  
The ground trembled.  
  
One by one, the sculptures stood, and the air became a sandstorm as they shook, sending the grains flying from their gleaming scales.  
  
"Jillas!" Valgaav screamed. One of the Goldens gave him a toothy, feral grin.  
  
"Well, look here. We missed one..."  
  
He turned around to run.  
  
Gravos stood in the living room, dressed in a priest's frock. A rectangular hole was in the center of the floor, and a weeping Jillas was kneeling by it. Dangling above it was Filia, suspended from a noose, her face distorted and swollen by the effects of slow strangulation from an improper hanging. The spectacle grew even more absurd as Gravos stumbled through reading an eulogy from the book, tripping over ponderous words, and whenever that would happen, Jillas would abruptly stop crying and cheerfully inform Gravos how to pronounce it before resuming heartwrenching sobs as if he never stopped.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Both servants looked at him, then to each other.  
  
"I told you. He can't keep her safe," Jillas said.  
  
"I know." Gravos shook his head. "Think I've said enough?"  
  
"Yeah. Let's bury Oneesan." They both reached for shovels, and began to fill the grave with dirt, Filia still hanging from the noose above the grave.  
  
"Shouldn't you put her in the grave first?" Valgaav asked, his voice thick.  
  
"Oh, oops!" Caitarina's voice was behind him. "Am I late? I forgot, that's my job." Valgaav recoiled as she patted him on the head and stepped up to Filia's body, swinging a huge halberd. Instead of hitting the rope, the blade connected with her neck.  
  
Valgaav spun around, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see Filia's body fall.  
  
"Oh, don't be silly. I'm not dead."  
  
Startled, he looked up, finding Filia hovering over him in her dragon form, her tail with that pink ribbon swaying lazily as she turned around, and lifted a huge egg, throwing it to the stone floor.  
  
"FILIA!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What the hell are you doing?!"  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing?" She shot him an annoyed look. "Really. You can be so dense sometimes." She picked up another egg, breaking it.  
  
"You're killing them!" he screamed, transforming into his dragon body, lunging at her.  
  
Instead, she reared back and knocked him away, laughing hysterically as he crashed into dozens of the eggs, crushing them. "Not as many as you are!" she goaded in a cheerful, sing-song voice.  
  
"Val!"  
  
Trembling, he got to his feet, turning his head to look to the doorway of the temple. Caitarina was there, also in dragon form, her body horribly battered and bloody in death.  
  
But she stood there, her head lolling in an unnatural manner on her broken neck, her lips curled back in a hideous grin of pain. "Aren't you even going to try to stop it this time?" she asked. "Maybe you won't miss now..."  
  
Nausea ripped through him as his eyes focused on the Golden beside her, and the deafening sounds of the carnage in the hatchery flooded his ears again. The metallic dragon held up a small child, his talons gripping the top of the young boy's head.  
  
Jatlini was kicking and screaming, trying to get away, and rivulets of blood ran down his face from where the talons broke the skin. The Golden raised a machete, and Valgaav screamed.  
  
Everything slowed down. He was too far away, having worked his way through the hatchery, and several others were between him and the door. He'd never get to Jatlini in time.  
  
Desperation gripped him, and he threw the halberd he had been using to fight off the Goldens at the one who held his younger brother, praying for it to hit its target before the Golden could swing that sword at Jatlini.  
  
The Golden dropped the machete, quickly trying to dodge the flying weapon.  
  
It hit Jatlini first, ripping through him before embedding in the Golden's chest.  
  
Limbs flailing, gasping for air, struggling to sit up, Valgaav blinked, looking around the living room wildly. His heart was hammering in his chest with such force he thought it might explode, and he was chilled to the bone, drenched in sweat. As reality struggled for a foothold, he choked, fighting down the urge to retch as his stomach heaved. The light was dusky as afternoon faded into the gloaming, and somewhere in the distance, the bells began to chime.  
  
Valgaav didn't bother to count out the hour; he just kicked away the covers and scrambled to his feet, wondering what was going to happen next as he moved through the house tentatively toward the kitchen, waiting for something to change. There was the sound of someone humming cheerfully in the kitchen, and Filia stood at the table, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.  
  
He snarled, lunging at her, smacking away the bowl with enough force to send it crashing into the window, splintering the wooden supports, shattering the panes, batter splattering everywhere. Filia screamed, jumping back away from him, her eyes wide. "Valgaav!"  
  
"You're still doing it!"  
  
She looked around in a panic, backing up frantically as he advanced closer to her. "Doing what?" Her voice was high-pitched in hysterics.  
  
"You're killing them!" he roared, grabbing her by the upper arms, throwing her away from him. Filia shrieked as she tried to catch herself with little success before she crashed into the wall.  
  
"Lord Valgaav!"  
  
He turned his glare away from Filia, locking it on Jillas. "And you. So you'd return her to the ones who'd have me dead..."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Filia shrieked, supporting herself against the wall, crying.  
  
"None of you think I can do it! You're laughing behind my back, all of you!"  
  
"Lord Valgaav, I ain't gotta clue what's goin' on here, did I miss something?" Gravos asked, carefully moving closer to him.  
  
"Are you out of your mind?" Filia cried.  
  
"I AM NOT THE INSANE ONE HERE!" Valgaav snarled, lunging at her. "You're in league with him! ALL OF YOU!"   
  
The wind was knocked from his lungs as he crashed to the floor under an enormous weight. Gravos had tackled him, and pinned him, holding him down. "Lord Valgaav! What's wrong?"  
  
Whiteness popped in his vision as he struggled to get the air back into his lungs, and red-hot pain lanced one side. Slowly, everything started to fall into place, and the line between reality and dreams began to grow more distinct with a sickening clarity. He closed his eyes as he heard muffled sobbing nearby, and Jillas' soft voice murmuring something.  
  
"Lord Valgaav?"  
  
He opened them again, looking up at Gravos.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Valgaav sighed, then flinched. "It's over. I'm okay. Just...I can't breathe."  
  
The troll hesitated, then moved off, watching Valgaav guardedly as he got to his feet. Valgaav remained laying there, just content to breathe. It felt like something was cracked inside, a rib most likely. Maybe two.  
  
"I was dreaming," he said finally. "I couldn't tell I wasn't still dreaming." Turning his head, he looked at Filia. "How badly are you hurt?"  
  
She shook her head, pressing her lips together in an attempt to stop crying. "I'm okay," she choked, just watching him. "What was that...?"  
  
He closed his eyes, feeling sick with guilt. "Just...the dream, everything's messed up. It was the eggs."  
  
"What about the eggs?" Jillas asked.  
  
"They..." The words stuck in his throat. "I gotta get up."  
  
Gravos offered him a hand, and Valgaav stood, unable to suppress a wince and a gasp of pain. Definitely something broken. He held his side as he moved to sit at the table.  
  
"You're hurt." Filia sniffled, getting to her feet with Jillas' help.  
  
Valgaav waved her off, resting his head against his free hand, closing his eyes.  
  
"I'm sor--"  
  
"You did what you had to do," Valgaav said, cutting off Gravos, trying to banish the images from his mind while still looking for the words to talk about it. "They attacked the hatchery."  
  
"Who?" Jillas asked, then a moment later comprehension hit. "Oh."  
  
"Caitarina worked there. She was there when they came."  
  
"Who was she?" Gravos asked.  
  
"She..." He sighed heavily. "I was betrothed to her."  
  
"Valgaav," Filia whispered. He couldn't keep from shuddering slightly as her hands touched his shoulders, jerking back as if burnt at the involuntary reaction. Valgaav turned around in the chair, wrapping his arms around her waist before she could move away, closing his eyes again as he held her close, resting his head against her abdomen. Her hands touched his head, gingerly at first, then tenderly as she started stroking his hair.  
  
"Jatlini was with me. He was my younger brother. We were told to take shelter beneath the house, but...it got too hot. The place was on fire. We escaped and it was just...it was insanity. So many dead before they even knew what hit. Our mother had left to look for our father. I never saw her after that. I saw him though. He... we were trying to get to the temple. I thought it would be safe there. It's so strong and well-guarded, surely there'd be sanctuary there. A temple. We were attacked in the air by a Golden, and then he showed up. He bought us time to get away, but...I looked back. I saw another one go after him, and..."  
  
Valgaav clenched his teeth, holding his breath, trying to keep himself under control, trying to keep back the burning sensation under his eyelids. "We got to the temple. But I was wrong. The doors, they were broken down. The hatchery was inside the temple. All the eggs of our clan, they were kept there. Some of the females worked in there, but all of the younger, unmated female dragons worked there as well as part of their duties. That's why Caitarina was there. Since a lot of the other dragons have families or other jobs, the eggs are kept there so the mothers can still take care of their lives."  
  
Filia's hands were stroking over his hair, her arms holding him close as he kept talking. "I...I thought Jatlini would be safe, hidden in some rubble. If he left, or if he was found, I don't know. I went in...that was the first time I'd ever directly killed anyone with my own hands. I made it to the hatchery, and they were trying to break down the door. They got in, and the wall broke out, Caitarina was one of the first dead, thrown through the wall by one of the Goldens that got into the inner sanctum of the hatchery."  
  
He pressed his face against her, trying to stop trembling. "They were...they were killing them. The eggs. Children. They couldn't even fight, and they were just...breaking the eggs. I tried to stop them. I heard a scream. One of them was holding Jatlini by his head at the doorway. I couldn't get there in time. I knew I couldn't. He was going to behead him. I threw the weapon I was holding, aiming at the Golden, but he moved and...it killed him...but..."  
  
Valgaav held her even tighter than before, breathing unsteadily, feeling ill. "It hit Jatlini first," he whispered.  
  
Filia's hands stopped stroking his hair, her arms going around him tightly as she held him, murmuring his name. Then a pair of furry arms went around them both, followed by the feel of a big hand resting on his shoulder.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Filia whispered.  
  
"I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you hurt by it." He chuckled, but felt no humor. "Looks like it backfired."  
  
"Shh." Filia stroked his hair again. "Let's go see what's wrong with your side. Gravos, could you please put on water and make a pot of tea, and Jillas, clean up the batter and broken glass?"  
  
"Comin' right up, Filia."  
  
"Sure, Oneesan."  
  
He felt them move away, and reluctantly released Filia. She carefully guided him to his feet, then led him back into the living room.  
  
"Where does it hurt?" she asked softly.  
  
"Everywhere. Everything." He couldn't even tell where the emotional ache ended and the physical began.  
  
She moved her fingers to his side, and the line became suddenly distinct as she pressed against the ribcage gently, drawing a sharp hiss of pain from him. "It's broken, I think," she said softly. "Lay back. It will feel better soon."  
  
"I'm so sorry, Filia," he said quietly as she helped him recline on the couch.  
  
"Hush," she whispered, bending close as she knelt on the floor beside him, her lips brushing over his briefly. Before he could return the kiss, she backed up, gently placing her hands over his side. "Oh, blessed and humble hand of God," Filia started to chant, "life and breath of Mother Earth, come before me and show your great compassion and deliver us. Recovery!" There was a glow of soft light from her hands, and a warmth, not searing but a comfortable sort of warm that makes the bones feel soft and the eyelids heavy on a lazy summer afternoon spread through his side, and the pain gradually began to ebb.  
  
"I never meant to hurt you..."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Filia?"  
  
"Hmm?'  
  
"If you want me gone--"  
  
Her fingertips brushed over his lips, silencing him. "Forever would have to end before I would want that," she whispered.  
  
"I don't deserve you."  
  
"You didn't deserve the last thousand years. Now rest. Let the bones mend."  
  
"I can't go back to sleep..."  
  
"Then don't. Just be still."  
  
"Please don't go."  
  
"I never will. Valgaav?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
He could only grip her hand tightly in response, the words trapped in his throat, choked there as burning wetness seared his closed eyes.  
  
Was he going to have to protect her from not only Xellos, but himself as well?  
  


_to be continued..._   



	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Note to Readers:** Sorry this has taken so long to get out. It wasn't just the Fanfiction.net downtime; my own downtime played a big part. I had to reformat my computer, and also had to keep unplugging it for hours at a time due to all the storms we're having down here in Texas, finishing this was just full of obstacles. So...tell me, was the result here worth the wait?  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Eighteen

  
  
There wasn't a single working clock in the house. There was a clock, an enormous and extremely heavy intricately carved wooden and glass piece of workmanship in the main hall which the previous owner had left behind, but it didn't run. At least not properly. It had only taken Filia a few days to grow annoyed with the constant erroneous chiming of hours, and it was stopped.  
  
Fixing it was on the list of things for Jillas to do, but since they needed to purchase certain pieces of clockwork from a smith, and because they could hear the nearby church chime out the hour from where they lived, the repair was considered optional for the time being. Jillas knew that it would become harder to tell the time once the days grew even shorter as winter snuck in, so over the last four months, he had saved back a bit of his own money here and there until he could afford to buy the replacement parts.  
  
"It's been four days. Do you figure things are back to normal yet?" Gravos asked quietly.  
  
Jillas paused from tightening a gear in the clock, looking down at his boss who had hoisted him up on his massive shoulders for better reach. "With Lord Valgaav and Oneesan?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Jillas twitched his nose in thought, turning his head to look in the direction of the shop, where Valgaav and Filia were working. "For the most part. They've been through a lot."  
  
Gravos followed his gaze. "Yeah." They were both quiet for a moment, and Jillas returned to work. "We got it lucky, don't we?"  
  
"What do you mean, boss?" Jillas asked, carefully removing a gear that showed signs of corrosion.  
  
"Well, I'm not as smart as the rest of ya, but it seems to me that while we all ended up in the same place, you and me, we had a good trip of it."  
  
The fox-man looked at Gravos again. "Can you explain?"  
  
"Well, you and me, we're the only ones who I've heard ever really talk about the old days, but then, we had it good, huh? Good times, good memories. They don't really got that, it looks like to me."  
  
Jillas frowned in thought, considering what Gravos said as he installed a replacement gear. "You might have a point..."  
  
"Here's how I figure it. Boss weren't more'n a kid when it all went down, and it was so long ago. Filia's about the same age he was, and while she thought she had it good, turned out everybody was a bloomin' liar, so it weren't that good."  
  
"They _have_ been through a lot," Jillas agreed.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Jillas was considering what to do with this new information as he worked on the clock. Gravos broke the silence first.  
  
"I hated hurting the boss," Gravos said quietly.  
  
"We didn't have a choice. He wasn't...himself," Jillas replied.  
  
"And he was gonna hurt Filia, and he don't wanna do that."  
  
"No. It would've hurt him more than anything you did if he'd hurt Oneesan." A glimmer of an idea started to form. "Boss?"  
  
"Yeah, Jillas?"  
  
"They need a day off, don't you think?"  
  
"Off of what?"  
  
"Everything, life. Just a day to go out and forget about everything and just have fun and spend time together."  
  
"Ya mean like a date?"  
  
Jillas grinned. "Well, now that you mention it..."  
  
"Ya figure they'd go for it?"  
  
That grin grew bigger. "They won't have a choice. Tomorrow, if it looks like it's gonna be a good day, we'll put together a picnic lunch and chase them out of town."  
  
Gravos frowned. "Are you sure they'll be safe? Especially Filia?"  
  
"I'm sure. They need to stop living like they're afraid one's gonna hurt the other, or they'll keep on being miserable."  
  
"I suppose ya gotta point."  
  
"So, tomorrow, we make them take a day off?"  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
"Great! Okay, I'm done up here. Put me down, boss."  
  


* * *

  
He was really going to have to get used to chimes sounding so..._close_. Fighting back a yawn, Valgaav rubbed a hand over his face, continuing down the hall from the point where he just had passed the newly-repaired clock as it started chiming out the sixth hour. Unexpected chimes and half-asleep dragons weren't the best of combinations.  
  
Fortunately, he'd caught himself before throwing a fireball at the blasted thing. _If there's anybody out there listening_, he thought, _don't let that turn out to be the best part of the day_... Wondering if there was any more of that extremely strong tea Filia had blended up left, Valgaav wandered into the kitchen, blinking sleepily.  
  
He then blinked a few more times, but in surprise at the sight of Jillas and Gravos already hard at work preparing a rather marvelous looking midday meal. He couldn't have overslept, could he? Valgaav squinted out the eastern window, seeing a pink glow. No, it was still early morning.  
  
"What's all this?"  
  
"Lunch, boss."  
  
"Yes, I can see that, but it's breakfast time."  
  
"Oh, we got breakfast too," Jillas said, giving him a beaming smile. "This is for you and Oneesan to take with you."  
  
"Take...with us?" He raised an eyebrow, putting his hands on his hips. "What're you going on about?"  
  
"You and Filia, yer goin' out today."  
  
Valgaav looked at Gravos. "Why wasn't I informed about this?" he groused, feeling irritable.  
  
"Because Boss and I are surprising you and Oneesan with it. You two need a day off, and a day off together. So, we're sending you out for a leisurely morning walk and a nice picnic lunch," Jillas explained.  
  
Valgaav just blinked, trying to decide if he should feel touched, exasperated, irritated, amused, or just plain confused. For the time being, confusion was winning, with touched and exasperated as place and show. "So Filia doesn't know about this?"  
  
"Nope!" the fox-man replied in a tone so cheery that Valgaav was certain it had to be illegal somewhere for anyone to be that perky at six in the morning.  
  
"Ahh. Okay. Well, first things first." Valgaav made a beeline to the cupboard where the tea was kept, and made a little gleeful sound when he discovered that powerful morning blend Filia created wasn't all gone. Every once in a while, he missed being Mazoku. They didn't require sleep, and with no sleep, there was no such thing as the evil otherwise known as morning.  
  
Once he got himself situated with a hot cup of strong, black tea between his hands, Valgaav felt a bit more capable of trying to wrap his mind around a day that apparently was already planned out for him. "What brought all this about, anyway?"  
  
"Well, with everything that's happened, and as busy as we've all been, you and Filia ain't really had much in the way of time for proper courting," Gravos replied, flashing him a grin.  
  
Valgaav stared at him, then smirked, rubbing a hand down his face with a sigh. "I suppose you're right."  
  
"Besides, the shop's closed today," Jillas said. "You two can take the day off."  
  
"It's also chore day," Valgaav reminded him.  
  
"Pish. Boss and me can handle that just fine," Jillas replied, beaming at him with a big smile.  
  
Valgaav merely smiled in return while inwardly placing a silent entreaty to whomever might be listening that the house would at least still be standing when they arrived home.  
  


* * *

  
"Remember when you do the wash, do the light-colored things first," Filia said even as she was being ushered out the door. "And when you mop the floor, remember to--" "Oneesan!" Jillas all but shouted, finally managing to interrupt her monologue, "we'll be fine."  
  
"I know, it's just..." She hesitated, pausing on the front step. "I really should just go and move the--"  
  
"Boss! We've got it!" Gravos said. "Now get out of here."  
  
"But..." She trailed off and looked at Valgaav for support, who only shrugged.  
  
"They'll be fine, Filia. I'm even inclined to think they're right, if you can't face the prospect of leaving the house for a day without fretting over work," he replied, slipping an arm snugly around her waist to keep her moving.  
  
"Do we have everything?" Filia asked worriedly, looking down at the blanket she was carrying.  
  
Valgaav raised the picnic basket in his hand. "There's water in here and more than enough food for lunch and snacks."  
  
Filia looked back to the house, seeing the door had already swung shut. "Are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean, Xellos..."  
  
Valgaav scowled slightly. "I'll be able to protect you."  
  
She bit her lip contritely. "I didn't mean it like that," she replied. They continued walking for a few moments in silence. "I don't want to fight today," she whispered.  
  
Valgaav closed his eyes, turning his head slightly to nuzzle against her ear. "Then we won't. Listen, let's just forget everything else today, okay?" he softly suggested. Filia nodded, nuzzling him back in silent agreement.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
Valgaav raised his head and looked around, then pointed up and far off. "Want to shoot for trying to scale that?" he asked, indicating the near-mountainous grassy hill that loomed over the village. The subtle, ever-changing hues of rich greens rippled as a breeze ruffled the grass, offering a lighter contrast to the darker smatterings of green where groves of conifers dotted the upper slope. Further down to the base, however, it was a rich rainbow sporting hues of vivid orange, yellow, red, and even suggestions of purple as the deciduous trees flaunted their autumn wear.  
  
Filia studied it, feeling a little dubious. "Do you think we can actually make it up there?"  
  
"I know we can. It's really not that far, we should reach the top by lunchtime. If nothing else, we'll have worked up an appetite. We can make it back down here by dusk. If anything goes wrong, we can always fly."  
  
"Then I need to go back and--"  
  
"Jillas already packed it," Valgaav said, releasing her to open one of the end flaps of the picnic basket, and uncovered the blue gem portal which Filia used to access her dragon form.  
  
She sighed, and gave him a little helpless grin. "You all thought of everything, didn't you?"  
  
"Yup, now all you need to do is just relax and quit worrying," Valgaav replied, draping his arm back around her shoulder.  
  
"All right." Filia nodded decisively. "This is me not worrying." She shot him a small grin.  
  
"Good girl. So, up the mountain?"  
  
"Up the mountain."  
  


* * *

  
"Let's rest for a minute," Filia pleaded, sinking down on the thick carpet of grass to catch her breath. "Good idea. Want some water?"  
  
"Please." She watched as he removed one of the canteens from the basket, and took it gratefully, indulging in a few long sips of the cool water. "How much further to the top?"  
  
Valgaav looked over his shoulder, squinting against the brilliant midmorning glare, then looked back down the way they came, considering. "Maybe another two, three hours of walking. I think we're about halfway up." He reached over and brushed back a few locks of hair that had fallen free from her intricate bun. "Do you want to keep going?"  
  
"Yeah, I just need a moment to catch my breath."  
  
"The air'll get thinner the higher we go."  
  
Filia nodded. "It never seems this bad when I'm flying."  
  
"Likewise. I think maybe our dragon forms are better equipped to handle the upper atmosphere." They were silent for a few moments. "Do you want to?"  
  
"What? Transform?" Filia frowned, considering. Although distant, the village was still in view. "I'm not sure. I know my scales would reflect the light enough to probably attract some attention. What about you?"  
  
"Probably not. My scales are dark, not metallic, and they're actually covered with dark fur."  
  
Filia arched an eyebrow, looking at him. "I've never heard of a dragon with fur before."  
  
"I'm probably the only warm-blooded dragon in existence. It was cold most of the year where we lived. You saw the snow."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. That makes sense."  
  
"You're from the desert?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You do know that it gets cold enough to snow here in the winter. How well can you handle it?"  
  
"I've been around snow before, you know," she replied, and he nodded. "It was a little hard, but I can make do."  
  
"Maybe we can see about having a fireplace built in your bedroom."  
  
"That would be nice," she admitted. "But I'm not sure if we can afford it."  
  
"Let's talk to Jillas and Gravos. We may be able to swing it."  
  
"I'm not saying no yet," Filia replied, giving him a gentle smile before turning her attention back to the valley below them. The individual trees, made tiny by distance, seemed to blend together like multicolored paints on an artist's palette. There was an abundance of reds and oranges, as well as various shades of greens from the grassy plains and the occasional conifers that grew deeper in the lowlands.  
  
The fields with their various crops offered a variety of shades of their own, crisscrossed and pieced together like a patchwork quilt on the valley floor. Snaking through the trees was the nearby river, offering the occasional glimpse of sparkling cobalt as the surface of the water reflected the sky and sun above.  
  
"It's lovely up here," Filia said quietly. "Almost as if the land's all dressed up for a party."  
  
"You've never seen the season changes before?" Valgaav asked.  
  
Filia shook her head. "I never left the desert until I was sent on the mission to decipher the Darkstar prophesy. The desert offers its own kind of beauty, brutal and untamable, but this..." She trailed off, drawing her knees up to her chin, looking at the scenery. "I think I want to try painting this on a set."  
  
"You'll do a good job, I'm sure."  
  
Filia smiled, content to sit there for a while longer and soak in the sunlight and colors. Finally, she lay back on the slope, stretching a moment before sitting back up and getting to her feet. "Let's keep climbing."  
  
"How far do you want to go?"  
  
"I'd like to try for the top, if we can make it. If not, we can find a place that would offer a decent enough spot for lunch."  
  
Valgaav took her hand, helping her up the hillside. "Sounds like a plan."  
  
They made slower progress over the next several hours, stopping frequently to both rest and to take in the view as the horizon continued to expand, offering them a chance to see more and more of their surroundings. As they neared their destination, they passed a small grove, discovering an old homestead.   
  
The derelict barn and house still stood, the timber faded, the roofs sagging with age. The porch of the house offered a hazardous trek across broken planks to the gapping hole where once there had been a door. Remains of a fence jutted up from the grass here and there, overgrown with creeping plants that sported greenish-gray hairy leaves and diminutive purple and white blossoms. In some of the windows, tattered remnants of what once had been perhaps curtains fluttered, grayed with age and exposure, their original hues long since lost.  
  
Filia lingered, gazing at it. "I wonder who used to live here."  
  
Valgaav stopped walking, looking back at her, then to the house. "People," he replied, shrugging slightly.  
  
"I know that, silly." She walked closer, and almost tripped over a rock which once had maybe been a footpath. "I wonder why they left. It seems like it would have been such a charming spot to live." Turning around, she looked toward the valley to make her point, admiring the view.  
  
"Any number of factors." He walked back to her side. "They could have died, or maybe they decided to live closer to town. Perhaps the well dried up, or the land didn't yeild anything fit to live on, or the winters were too harsh. Or it could have been for any one of a hundred other reasons."  
  
"It would seem such a place would make a charming home."  
  
"Don't tell me you're thinking of moving?" Valgaav asked incredulously.  
  
"Not _moving_, no." Filia shook her head. "But maybe, someday, a little getaway place."  
  
"That's an idea. We'd be best off finding another place, though. Not only might this still be owned, but the buildings are long past repair."  
  
"We can't really afford it right now anyway," Filia agreed, and gave the old place one more wistful glance. "It has a sort of charm to it though, in spite of its condition."  
  
Valgaav chuckled, looking down at her. "You're a hopeless romantic."  
  
"I may be a romantic, mister, but I am far from hopeless."  
  
"I stand corrected." He put his arm around her shoulder. "Shall we continue on? We're almost there."  
  
"Certainly." Filia stopped as they passed an old fencepost, and broke off a long strand of the creeping plant that was particularly full of the miniature blooms. Following behind Valgaav, the blanket slung on her shoulder, Filia carefully wove the long stem into a pastoral crown.   
  
Valgaav grinned when he saw what she had made, and when they finally reached a place near enough to the peak to be relatively level, he gave a little mock bow, gesturing to their surroundings with a sweep of his arm. "Is this to your liking, milady?"  
  
Filia couldn't help but giggle as she replied with a curtsy of her own. "Most certainly."  
  
He set the basket down and helped her spread out the blanket. After they were both settled, Filia started unpacking the picnic basket. It wasn't long before they were relaxing, eating at an unhurried pace. The silence that lingered between them was a comfortable one, and after the luncheon dishes were placed aside, Valgaav stretched out onto his back, and indicated for Filia to do the same, laying perpendicular to him.  
  
As she lay back, her head resting on his chest, he gathered up her hair and smoothed it out on his other side, carefully removing the tangled crown. Filia closed her eyes in a lazy state of bliss as he draped one arm over her upper chest, across her shoulders protectively, and gently stroked back her hair from her forehead with his other hand. She crossed her legs at the ankles, lacing her fingers together and resting them over her stomach, blinking drowsily as she basked in both the noontime sun and the tender caress.  
  
"I love you, Valgaav," she whispered quietly, the words escaping her lips as soon as the thought formed, before she was even aware she spoke.  
  
The hand stroking her head stilled momentarily, and the arm over her tightened a bit more in a brief hug. "I love you too, Filia," he murmured, and resumed brushing his fingers lightly over her skin and hair.  
  
She turned her head, looking at him. Valgaav glanced down to meet her eyes, and smiled softly.  
  
"May I ask something?" she whispered.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Did you mean it, a few days ago, when you said, when you implied that you needed me for the rest of your life?" she whispered timidly.  
  
His hand came up to rest on her cheek, brushing it with the pad of his thumb. "Yes. Did you mean it when you said forever would have to end before you'd want me to go?"  
  
Mutely, she nodded, then hesitated. "Are you certain?"  
  
Valgaav quirked a small smile. "Are you?"  
  
"I asked you first. I mean, you've had your life taken from you for a thousand years. Why me? Is it gratitude, is it a lack of options, what?"  
  
The smile faded as his expression grew serious. "It's love, Filia. Around you, I feel safe."  
  
"Safe?" she echoed softly.  
  
"You won't betray me," he replied, watching his hand as he stroked her hair. "Trust isn't something I know anymore. In the course of a thousand years, I only trusted three people -- Gaav, Jillas, and Gravos. Then you came along. Yes, it took me time to get here, but here I am."  
  
His eyes met hers again, and she blinked back the sting of tears. "I don't want anything anymore except peace, that's all I've wanted for a very long time. With you, I have that. I love how I feel around you, who I am with you." He glanced around, gesturing. "Moments like these." Gently, he brushed his fingers over her eyes, caressing away the tears.  
  
"I'd like to have moments like these for the rest of my life, if you'll let me."  
  
Filia quickly changed position, laying beside him, her head nestled on his shoulder as she hugged him tightly. His arms came around her, holding her close. "I can't imagine life without you, and I never want to, Valgaav," she whispered, her face buried against his neck. "But I'm scared."  
  
His fingers gently caressed her cheek. "Of what?" he murmured.  
  
"Of what's happening. I don't even know what to expect."  
  
Silence reigned for several heartbeats. "What do you mean?"  
  
"We're talking about...forever, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Where do we go from here?"  
  
"I'm still not following what you're trying to get at, Filia."  
  
"The ceremony."  
  
Valgaav was still for a moment, then started chuckling. "Oh, that's what you were worried about?"  
  
Filia raised her head, blinking at him, confused. "Yes, what did you think I was talking about?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing. So...what's the problem?"  
  
"There isn't anyone left to do anything of the sort. Neither of us would want a ceremony from my clan, anyway, unless you remember anything about the ones your clan performed?"  
  
"Filia, not only do I not remember it, but even if I did, no one's qualified to do such a ceremony, and..." He trailed off, and shrugged slightly. "It's the past, Filia. Don't go there."  
  
"Sor--" She was cut off by his lips on hers, silencing the apology.  
  
"Do we even need one?"  
  
"A ceremony?" she asked. "Well..." Filia frowned in confusion.  
  
"Who's rules are we breaking?"  
  
The query stymied her. Everyone who had scripted and enforced such rules was dead. "I don't know," Filia admitted.  
  
"Do you want a human ceremony?"  
  
She shook her head, then hesitated. "Do you?"  
  
Valgaav snorted softly in response. "Humans have no concept of a relationship that can endure. How many of their so-called bindings end on a whim? Dragons" -- he curled a lock of her hair around his finger gently, watching it reflect the sun -- "mate for life."  
  
Filia felt her cheeks grow hot as she blushed, closing her eyes tightly and burying her face against his shoulder. "True," she whispered. "So, where does that leave us?"  
  
"Seems to me it leaves us wherever we want to be," he replied, resting his head against hers. "The Ancients are long since dead, and neither of us want anything to do with the Goldens. The past is in the past. We're not bound by the old rules anymore. Life's whatever we want to make it."  
  
"But what does that mean for us?"  
  
"No ceremonies, no rules. It's just us, Filia."  
  
She raised her head to look at him then. "Forever?" she whispered.  
  
Valgaav quirked a faint smile. "And then some." He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. "You up to that?"  
  
Filia took a few heartbeats to consider it, then couldn't suppress a smile as she nodded slightly, but enthusiastically. "Are you?"  
  
"Have I ever thanked you for giving me back my life?" he asked.  
  
"You just did."  
  
Chuckling softly, he held her tightly in his arms. "Hell, yes, I'm up to it." Gently, he kissed her forehead. "I love you, Filia."  
  
"And I love you, Valgaav."  
  


_to be continued..._   



	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Note to Readers:** I'm thinking I've got maybe 5 more chapters left to go of TIOT. W00t. Just a reminder, TIOT is the first part of a trilogy, so the saga won't end with this story.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Nineteen

  
  
The sun felt delicious, just right for basking, and the cool mountain breeze kept it from becoming too warm for Valgaav's liking. It was such a perfect afternoon; the sky was a shade of blue so intense it almost hurt to look at it, and the enormous, puffy clouds offered dazzling contrast.  
  
Of course, the weather was hardly enough on its own to merit even a rating of good, as far as the quality of the day was concerned. The perfection came from the company. Filia had returned to her former position, laying perpendicular to him on her back, her head resting on his chest. Trailing out on his other side were her long, golden tresses, with which one hand was kept busy lazily stroking and toying at the curls. The other rested on her shoulder, underneath her dainty hand. Neither of them spoke, but it was a companionable silence, the sort borne only by the ease of one another's presence, not needing to fill the quiet with inane chatter.  
  
Yes, it was quite the perfect day. The darker moments over the past few months, the past few lifetimes, faded in the sunlight, growing obscure. He'd have to do something for Jillas and Gravos when they got back to thank them for this idea.  
  
As he watched the clouds drift lazily past through partially-closed eyes, something caught his attention and he opened his eyes wider, studying a cloud. Grinning faintly, he gave Filia a light nudge and pointed it out. "What does that look like?"  
  
She looked to where he indicated, her expression remaining blank. "A cloud?"  
  
"I know it's a cloud, but what does it look like?"  
  
Confusion muddled her features. "A...white, puffy cloud?"  
  
"Well, yes, it's that, but it looks like a dragon. See?" From her expression, he could tell she couldn't, so he pointed out and described the head and wings, and the wispy bits that could be a tail, and an outstretched paw.  
  
"Oh, yeah." Filia chuckled softly. "Getting creative, are we?"  
  
He looked at her. "What, you never played this game when you were younger?"  
  
"Game?"  
  
"You know, look at the clouds and try to find shapes in them?" The look Filia gave him not only told him she hadn't, but that she also thought maybe he was slightly insane. "You're no fun," he groused playfully.  
  
"Idle hands make demon's work," she quoted. "Laying around picking out cloud shapes doesn't sound like an activity we would have been encouraged to engage in."  
  
Valgaav stared at her for a long moment, then sighed, stroking her hair gently. "It's never too late to start." She looked at him. "Go on. Give it a try?"  
  
Filia hesitated, then gave him a small, indulgent smile. "All right. For you, I will." She turned her attention back to the sky, frowning in thought as her gaze roamed over the various clouds. Valgaav kept his eyes on her face for two reasons, to watch her expression, and to keep from seeing anything more and fighting the temptation to point it out to her.  
  
After several long minutes, a look of delighted satisfaction settled across her features, and she pointed up to a cloud. "There. That part of it, on top, to the left? It looks like a dog's head with floppy ears."  
  
Valgaav grinned triumphantly. "There you go! It does look like that."  
  
"Your turn."  
  
"Okay. Hmm." He studied the clouds, peering intently at a formation. "That one there looks a bit like a swan." Filia looked to where he indicated, then shot him a dubious look, which he had thoroughly expected. After all, it was a bit of a stretch. "A swan with a severe ego problem?" he suggested, bringing his hands up to his head and moving them away, as if to indicate swelling.  
  
Filia laughed and lightly swatted his arm before turning her attention to the sky. "Hmm. Actually, that so-called swan looks more like a cobra now, with the hood flared and head reared up to strike."  
  
"Nice salvage. Hey, look at the dog, it's different now. Tell me, who does that look like?"  
  
Filia glanced at it, staring in perplexed silence for a few moments, then burst out laughing. "It's Jillas! And that puff of cloud right there, his eyepatch!"  
  
"There's a bear. See the head, the ears, and snout?"  
  
"Oh, yeah." Filia was getting into now. "And over there, it looks like bell."  
  
"A bell?" Valgaav couldn't quite see it.  
  
"Think of one of those big church bells on the swing." Filia moved her hands to indicate what she meant. "And there it is, on the upswing, with the clapper going up."  
  
He had to turn his head a bit and view it at an angle similar to what she was seeing, but then he was able to make out the shape. "It does look like that."  
  
Filia giggled softly. "This is fun."  
  
"I told you so," he teased.  
  
"Your turn again," she replied, giving him a small smirk.  
  
"Very well. Look at the side of that one cloud, see where it's puffing out? It's a face. Well, a face with an extremely large nose."  
  
"Oh, over there, a vase with flowers."  
  
"And below it, see? A foot."  
  
"Know what that one reminds me of?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"A big, soft bed covered in pillows." Filia yawned.  
  
Valgaav grinned. "The sun getting to you?"  
  
"A bit," she admitted.  
  
"Here, sit up a moment. I've got an idea."  
  
"Oh, dear." But she was grinning as she said it, shifting position to sit, watching him.  
  
Valgaav smirked a bit, then walked on his knees over to the picnic basket and carefully pulled out her portal. "Use this."  
  
Filia blinked, taking it from him. "Huh?"  
  
"Let's go dragon."  
  
Filia blushed furiously. "Um..."  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Err... I'll..." She looked around, getting to her feet. "I'll just go over there and do it."  
  
"What's wrong with right here?" He didn't think it was possible for her to turn any more red, but he discovered he was mistaken. Her reply was so soft and mumbled he couldn't make it out. "What was that?"  
  
"I'm naked," she whispered.  
  
Valgaav blinked. Then promptly had to choke down a smirk as a hundred comments raced through his mind, all of which would most likely result in Mace-sama's appearance. _Stay good, Valgaav. Stay good._ Instead, he merely coughed, and gestured for her to go ahead.  
  
Still blushing bright red, Filia ducked behind some bushes. Valgaav turned his back, closing his eyes and changing to his dragon form. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw her standing there, her head ducked shyly, her wings folded tight to herself, and her tail coiled around her feet where she sat, the tip twitching slightly in nervous tension, and sporting a pink bow.  
  
Her young age was even more apparent in her dragon form, and her blue eyes looked at him in uncertainty through the locks of blond hair that tumbled down into her face. Tentatively, she started to take a step toward him, then stopped.  
  
"What is it, Filia?" he asked, crossing over to her.  
  
"I...I just wasn't sure how you'd react to me. Like this, I mean." She fluttered her wings slightly.  
  
In truth, he hadn't been certain how it would feel either, which was why he had turned around and transformed as well before facing her. But looking at her now, there was nothing which truly reminded him of the past. A few things, yes, but she never needed to know that. Gently, he nuzzled her cheek.  
  
"You're Filia," he said quietly. "That's all that matters."  
  
She sighed, a tiny, relieved sound, and nuzzled him back, stepping closer. Valgaav closed his eyes and rubbed his head along her neck lightly, flaring his wings and draping one over her back.  
  
Filia stepped closer to him, pressing her body up to his. He was surprised at the realization that her dragon form was a bit smaller than his own, since Goldens were usually among the larger dragons. But then, she was also younger. While his size didn't accurately reflect his age, he was a bit larger than he had been.  
  
Valgaav shook his head slightly and pressed his head against Filia's. The past was past. He wouldn't -- he couldn't think of those days. Not now, not anymore.  
  
"Let's stretch out," he whispered. Together, they moved closer to where the blanket was, stopping a few feet shy of it, and lay down on the grass. Gently, he craned his neck around Filia's, nuzzling her, and carefully lay his wing over her back.  
  
Filia sighed softly, closing her eyes and tucking her head back, resting her chin on his shoulder. Valgaav followed suit, moving his head to her in a way that his neck was stretched over hers, holding her protectively. The action brought another tiny sigh from Filia, and she snuggled closer.  
  
"This feels nice," she whispered. "Your fur's so soft, so silky." He smiled, closing his eyes as he wrapped his tail around hers lightly. "I didn't think you could hold me as a dragon."  
  
"Why's that?" he asked quietly.  
  
"We ... we weren't physically demonstrative. Not like this."  
  
"Filia, my love." He raised his head, drawing back to nuzzle her cheek, looking into her eyes. "They made you miss out on so much of what it is to be a dragon."  
  
"That's changing, though," she whispered, looking up at him.  
  
Valgaav smiled, resting his head against hers briefly. "Count on it." Drawing back, he resumed his previous positioning, snuggling closer to her protectively.  
  
"I love you," she murmured, her voice softened by the sun-induced drowsiness.  
  
"I love you too."  
  


* * *

  
"Filia." The warmth of his wing disappeared, letting a cold wind blow over her back. Half-asleep, she frowned, moving closer to him, trying to stay warm. "Filia, wake up!" She was jostled into opening her eyes when he roughly shoved his head against hers, causing her chin to slide off his shoulder. It was darker, the sun obscured by clouds. "Wha--"  
  
Filia never got the chance to finish her words as she was cut off by a dazzling flash of light that left her blinking and temporarily blinded, followed shortly thereafter by a deep, rumbling roar.  
  
"Filia, it's about to storm, come on! We've got to go!" Valgaav pulled away and nudged her to her feet. Quite awake at this point, Filia carefully picked up the picnic basket with her mouth by the handle, while Valgaav did the same with the blanket.   
  
"Should we try flying down? We'll make better time," Filia asked around the basket handle, raising her voice to be heard over the increasing wind.  
  
He looked around, hesitating, then shook his head, dropping the blanket to speak. "Not in this wind. We'd have to fly close to the ground as it is to avoid the lightning, and if a gust caught us wrong, we could crash into the hillside. Let's try to make it to that homestead you found."  
  
They darted down the slope, and when the skies opened up, talons dug deep into the earth for purchase as the thick grass grew slick with rain. Both of them kept their wings folded tightly against their bodies, trying to cut back on anything the strong gusts could catch. While neither of them were light enough by any standards to get blown away, the wind only added to the difficulty of navigating through the blinding rain, with the angle of descent, and slippery footing.  
  
Several times Filia wondered if it might not be easier to try navigating in her human form, but each time the question arose, the usefulness of her talons became clearly obvious. As it was, she wasn't even certain of their direction, she was just following Valgaav. Fortunately, he seemed to have more of a clue where they were going, and she almost walked into him as he stopped suddenly.  
  
Then he was gone, and Filia blinked furiously, giving her head a shake, trying to clear the water from her vision as she looked for him. He was standing there in his human form, using the soaked blanket to offer some meager protection from the rain.  
  
"Change down," he shouted over the storm. "We can't fit in there as dragons!"  
  
Filia balked, looking around for some privacy, and started to move away when a brilliant flash caused spots to form in her vision, and the air tingled over her scales with a powerful charge. Not ten feet away, a suddenly warped and splintered tree start to blaze, but the lightning-induced flames were quickly extinguished by the rain. Without a second thought, Filia dropped the basket and began to chant, changing forms from dragon to human. She had barely finished, reaching to pick up the basket, when she felt his hand wrap firmly around her wrist, pulling her past the derelict gate, running across the yard for the abandoned home.  
  
Valgaav shouted in surprise, and Filia felt herself being jerked forward roughly, stumbling to her knees as he disappeared into the ground, still gripping onto her wrist. She cried out as her knees struck stone, and the basket handle snapped out of her grip as she scrambled to plant her free hand on solid ground, digging her fingers into the sodden turf. Breathing heavily and whimpering at the burning sensations down her arm, Filia looked down the old well at Valgaav.  
  
"I can't pull you up!" she gasped, trying to draw him up, feeling his grip on her wet wrist slipping. A large blur of dark blues and reds flashed into her vision as the soaking blanket, which he still held tightly, was thrown out of the well.  
  
"Grab that!" he shouted. "Try to move back and brace yourself!"  
  
"All right!" Filia drew in a quick breath then released her grip on the ground, dropping down onto her shoulder, gripping the blanket tightly. Kicking her feet, she struggled for a foothold, trying to push herself further away from the well opening. "I got it!"  
  
Then the painful pulling on her arm ceased as he let go, and she felt the blanket take his weight, praying it would hold. Filia dug her heels into the ground, holding onto the wet material with both hands, shifting away from the well onto her back, trying to scoot backward as he started climbing out, hand over hand. When he was able to get his upper body over the mouth of the well, she released one hand from the blanket, reaching out to him, pulling him the rest of the way as he managed to get his knees onto the ground.  
  
Once out, they didn't waste any time getting to shelter, although their progress had been tempered by experience. They carefully picked their way over the rotting floorboards of the porch, and through the doorway. The wind still whistled sharply through the open windows, and down the crumbling fireplace, but at least the roof offered some degree of protection from the rain.  
  
"Are you all right?" they both asked at the same time.  
  
Valgaav just shook his head, not as much in response to the question as it was in exasperation, and took her arm again, examining the wrist. "How badly are you hurt?"  
  
"I'll be sore for a few days, I'm sure, but nothing's broken," she assured him. "What about you?"  
  
"Damn near dislocated my shoulder, but that's nothing new. Few scrapes I'll probably be feeling for a while, but aside from that, I'm fine." They looked at each other for a few moments.  
  
Filia didn't know who moved first, perhaps they both did. But one second they were looking at the other, and the next, they were hugging one another as if they'd never let go.  
  
Valgaav pulled away first, carefully holding her by the shoulders, looking at her. "You're absolutely trembling. We need to get you warmed up."  
  
"What about you?" she asked, and realized then that her teeth were chattering.  
  
"I can handle the cold a hell of a lot better." Valgaav pulled away, looking around, then put the wet blanket over her shoulders. "Not the best of options, but it's still thick enough to keep the worst of the wind off you for the moment." He walked over to the fireplace, looking up the chimney and examining it before scouting around the room.  
  
"What are you doing?' Filia asked, huddling down on the floor.  
  
"Looking for wood dry enough to burn." He scowled. "I'm not...wait."  
  
"What?"  
  
"These floorboards over here are already broken. They feel dry though." Reaching down, he grabbed the edge of one and brought his heel down at the other end to break it loose.  
  
"Be careful!" Filia called out as he staggered slightly when the wood gave way.  
  
After a few more breaks, he appeared satisfied that he had enough to get a decent blaze going for at least a little while. Valgaav dropped them into the fireplace and stepped back, and she forced herself to pay attention to what he was doing in an attempt to fight off the increasingly sluggish feeling that was settling over her. He concentrated on a spell, casting a flare lance at the fireplace, controlling its intensity and taking care that only the wood on the other side of the hearth would ignite. Then, with even more obvious caution, he cast another, this time aiming directly at the stone hearth, heating it as well.  
  
"That looks good. Come here." Valgaav crossed the room as Filia struggled to make her cold-numbed legs work well enough to stand, and helped her to her feet, moving her closer to the fireplace. He took the wet blanket and lay it down on the hot rocks of the hearth, far enough away from the fireplace to avoid the occasional spark. "Lay down on this. The hearth should heat it up. It's still wet, but at least it'll be warm and wet, and better than you getting burnt by the rock."  
  
Filia gratefully lay down on it, facing the flames and curling up into a huddled ball, trying to conserve her body temperature as much as possible. She heard him move away, and listened to the staccato rhythm of wood splintering and breaking, punctuated occasionally by a loud clatter as he would toss the timbers into a pile.  
  
Past that, the storm still raged overhead, and the thunder shook the forlorn building so frequently, it seemed to be almost a constant roll. The erratic illumination of lighting was giving her a headache, so Filia closed her eyes, concentrating on the steady red glow of the flames in front of her face.  
  
She hadn't even been aware she had dozed off until she felt Valgaav shaking her into consciousness, and she struggled through the thick mire of stupor to open her eyes.  
  
"Stay with me, okay?" he asked, and his eyes were worried. She saw he had removed his shirt at some point, and it was hanging on a piece of timber propped up by the fire to dry. "Come on, sit up, get moving."  
  
Filia groaned in protest, but he wasn't having any of it, sliding his hands under her arms, gripping her sides, pulling her up. She wavered unsteadily, but once he was sure she had her footing, he let go, pulling the blanket back from the hearth in preparation for another flare lance. That one seemed a bit stronger, because the rocks took on a brief red glow as the lance hit. Filia heard a short sizzling sound as he lay the still-wet blanket back over the rocks, then guided her back to her spot.  
  
Laying down again quickly, eager to get back to the heat of the fire, Filia sighed in pleased relief at the hot, moist sensation filtering up from the hearth stones. Valgaav lay down behind her, spooning his body against hers, draping his arm over her stomach and holding her close.  
  
Soon, she was as comfortable as she could possibly be in her wet garments, between the heat from the flames, the heat from the stones, and the warmth of his body pressed up all along her back. After a bit, the side she wasn't laying on, which was still somewhat exposed to the elements, began to protest at being ignored.  
  
Filia carefully rolled over onto her other side, facing Valgaav with her back to the fire. Eyes closed, she snuggled closer, nuzzling his bare chest, enjoying the sensation of his arms around her. "This is good," she mumbled, slurring her words a bit.  
  
"Feeling better?" he asked softly, and his breath was warm against her ear.  
  
"Mm-hmm." She snuggled closer and looked up at him. "Interesting afternoon."  
  
That prompted a chuckle that she felt more than heard, the sound rumbling low in his chest. Valgaav kissed her forehead, holding her tightly. "That it is."  
  
"The storm's not bad. A bit cold, but not bad." She hugged him tighter. "I can live without ever coming that close to losing you again, though."  
  
"That's twice now you've saved my life." He nuzzled her hair. "I'm gonna have to start catching up."  
  
"I'd rather avoid placing my life in peril if it's all the same to you," Filia replied wryly, and he chuckled again, planting a light kiss on her lips.  
  
"I can manage with that, I suppose." He smiled down at her, drawing a hand up to lightly brush his fingertips against her cheek.  
  
Filia leaned closer, tenderly grazing her lips against his. He closed his eyes, cupping her cheek against his hand and strengthened the kiss to where it was more tangible, but still delicate.   
  
Valgaav drew back from the kiss, looking at her worriedly. "You're still shivering," he said quietly, "and this time, I don't think it's from my kissing you."  
  
She chuckled and blushed faintly. "My side's getting cold."  
  
Valgaav studied her, thinking. "Give me a moment, I might be able to fix that." She whimpered in protest as he pulled away from her, sitting up, then opened her eyes wide as two black, feathered wings emerged from his back. They had disappeared one day after Filia was certain they were healed, and he never mentioned them, and Filia never asked.  
  
"Doesn't that hurt?" she asked him hesitantly.  
  
"Not anymore," Valgaav replied. "We've always been able to achieve a partial form. It was just the Mazoku blood in me before that had issues with my body trying to acknowledge its draconian heritage." He lay down beside her again, pulling her close, this time draping a wing over her as a blanket. "Any better?" he asked softly.  
  
"Mm-hmm." Filia nuzzled closer, getting comfortable again. "Safest place in the world."  
  
Valgaav was still for a heartbeat, then hugged her so tightly that oxygen threatened to become an issue. "Ai shiteru," he whispered.  
  
Filia's heart skipped a beat at the declaration of love so solemn and formal it was virtually a vow. She had heard it before, part of the binding ceremonies the Goldens used to hold, but those matings were arranged. The words were spoken in rote, just a part of the necessity of the process. But when Valgaav said it, it sounded worlds apart. Not in mechanical obligation, but in truth, in a voice low and husky with the strength of emotion underscoring the importance of the words themselves.  
  
"Ai shiteru," she whispered back, turning her head up to gaze at him. Valgaav kissed her again, the touch more solid, firmer than before.  
  
She kissed him back, a sense of urgency uncoiling within her, fueled by the adrenaline and storm. A low moan escaped her as their lips parted, the kiss deepening, his tongue invading her mouth to brush against her own in a tender possessiveness.  
  
Almost desperately, she clung to him, her fingers tightening against his warm skin, matching the kiss with her own hunger. She felt lightheaded, and the erratic drumming of the rain and thunder seemed distant as her world was reduced to one of sensation and touch and fire.  
  
The kiss grew in urgency, and Filia wasn't certain when they had moved, for she was now on her back, his arms under her, holding her, supporting the back of her head. She slid her arms around him, her fingers brushing against his back, tracing up his spine, circling around the base of his wings.  
  
Another kind of fire sparked and flared to life, a roiling heat low in her stomach that robbed her of her ability to breathe. Her heart stopped in her chest, then exploded in an unsteady, pounding rhythm as Valgaav's lips left hers, leaving a trail of searing kisses down her neck. Her fingers tightened against his back, forming nails that bit lightly into his skin. In response, his teeth nipped the flesh over her pulse, and a gasp caught in her throat as electricity rippled down her nerves, fueling the heat within.  
  
Filia writhed slightly on the blanket, her body moving almost on its own accord, responding to a call older than time as she nuzzled against his damp hair, kissing his cheek and forehead. She was drowning in sensation, her world reduced to mere nerves, and when it abruptly stopped, with the warmth of his body pressing down on hers disappearing, it was like breaking the surface of water into freezing air.  
  
Head reeling, she turned her gaze to look at Valgaav, who was laying on his back beside her, eyes closed, breathing heavily. She made a soft sound of question, and his amber eyes opened, focusing on hers before he leaned in to kiss her again, with more restraint.  
  
"What is it?" she whispered, snuggling closer, shivering.  
  
"Not like this, Filia," he murmured, kissing her temple and wrapping his wings around her again for warmth.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Not here. Not in a derelict building in the middle of nowhere like some illicit tryst." Valgaav brushed his fingers over her cheek. "We have a home." She blushed furiously, burying her face against his chest, causing him to chuckle. "And if you're reacting like this to a vague reference, I'm wagering you're really not ready for the reality."  
  
She curled up tighter against him, whispering an apology. He stroked her hair, cradling her close to him.  
  
"None needed at all, Filia, my love." His lips brushed her forehead, then she heard him cast a levitation spell. Looking at him curiously, he pointed to the fire. "Putting more wood on it. Are you still cold?"  
  
"Not as much as I was."  
  
"Good." He looked up, listening. "It doesn't sound like the storm's about to break anytime soon. Why don't you get some rest?"  
  
"I hope Jillas and Gravos aren't worried..."  
  
"Knowing them, they are. But we'll be home by tonight. If it's after sundown, we can just soar down, even if it's still raining. It can't storm forever."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"Are you going to sleep?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Good." She snuggled closer, and his wings were wrapped around her like a soft, thick blanket.  
  
Safest place in the world.  
  


_to be continued..._   



	20. Chapter Twenty

**Note to Readers:** Two things. If you've tried to go to my own website in the last month, only to get a message that the site's no longer there, that's not quite true. The server that its on is having some serious issues. They're working to fix it. Patience. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself. At the moment, last time I looked, it seemed to be functioning. Hopefully, that luck will hold.  
Second thing is, I couldn't help but give a tip of the hat to one of my favorite book series as a child, especially since I'm also sneezing uncontrollably at the moment. Yay, allergies! -_- If anyone can't figure out what series inspired me and want to know, email me. I just hope no one asks Gravos to put out the lights or dress the turkey. ^_~  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Twenty

  
  
"Why is it that the cleaner the house gets, the dirtier **_I_**__ get?" Jillas lamented to no one in particular as he stood up from scrubbing the kitchen floor, eyeing the wet and matted fur on his arms and knees woefully. With a little sigh, he shook his head and smiled. "At least oneesan will be proud."  
  
After he lugged the bucket of dirty water out the back door and dumped it, Jillas decided to go find Gravos and see how he was getting along with dusting the furniture. As he walked into the living room, Jillas started sneezing uncontrollably. In between sneezes and through watering eyes, he looked around and realized that the living room was actually virtually coated in a white film.  
  
"Boss!" Jillas shouted in between sneezes and hurried out of the room, sniffling. "What happened to the living room?"  
  
An equally white-glazed ogre poked his head out of the shop door, looking confused. "Well, I dusted it..."  
  
Jillas blinked, rubbing his watering eyes. "What do you mean, you dusted it?"  
  
Gravos held up a container of powder. "I thought it was pretty weird, but you did say to dust the rooms, and so did Filia."  
  
Jillas facevaulted. "It means you clean the dust _off_, not put more on!"  
  
"Oh!" Gravos frowned, thinking. "Then why don't you just say undust?"  
  
"I don't know, boss." Jillas sneezed again, and sighed. "How many rooms did you dust?"  
  
"Only two. I was just about to start on the shop. It took me a while to figure out how to dust."  
  
Jillas couldn't help but chuckle. "Come on. Let's get the windows open. Hopefully, we'll get it done before they come back. What other room did you dust?"  
  
"Filia's bedroom."  
  
Jillas blinked, and hurried down the hall, opening the door and immediately dissolving into a sneezing fit again. With a running nose and watering eyes, Jillas hurried over to the window and got it open. Gravos looked into the bedroom, expression a bit guilty. Jillas tried to grin, but couldn't quite manage it between the sneezes. "Well," _choo! _"on the" _ahchoo! _ "bright side, the" _achooachoochooachoo! ... sniffle. _ "hou--" _owchoo! _ "--se will be even" _ahhh-choo! _ "more clean a--" _ahhhhCHOO! ... snuffle. _"after this. _ahhhh-hhh-hhh... ...sniffle... ...sniffsniff... ahh...sniffsnuffle... sigh._ Jillas gave Gravos a reassuring smile. _AHCHOO!!_  
  


* * *

  
Jillas was being proven right two hours later, as they worked on finishing up cleaning the last of the powder. Blankets, sheets, pillows, cushions, and upholstery rugs were all outside on the line. They had taken turns with the large, wire rug beater, smacking the various items until the air was virtually white with powder. At first, it seemed as though it might all just settle back down onto everything again, but a gusty wind began to breeze into the valley.  
  
The wind hadn't let up, and the doors and windows to the house were open, airing out the dust inside. They had finished cleaning Filia's bedroom first, and were now applying the final touches to the living room, and the place seemed to sparkle.  
  
Jillas was kneeling down on the hearthstones, scrubbing out the fireplace and the natural red of the bricks was visible again. Gravos was out back, using a wire brush to scrape off the grime from the log rack, and the house was getting a more thorough top-to-bottom cleaning than it had received since sometime before it was even purchased. Although Filia had often given the place a thorough cleaning, Jillas and Gravos were moving heavier furniture that hadn't been budged before, and certainly no one had scrubbed out the fireplace.  
  
Perhaps a bit overkill, but they were both determined that Filia didn't find out about the powdered house.  
  
Jillas got to his feet and stepped back, admiring his handiwork and enjoying being able to breathe like a normal fox again. His nose was still a bit itchy and swollen, but even that was tapering off, as was the itchy, heavy sensation in his eyes. Sometimes, a keen sense of smell wasn't exactly an advantage.  
  
"Done with the fireplace?" Gravos asked, carrying the rack back in. It was clean enough that if it weren't made from cast iron, it might have sparkled.  
  
"Yep, boss." Jillas beamed as he surveyed their work. "Oneesan's going to be so impressed!"  
  
"See? Dusting really does clean things," Gravos replied, and Jillas chuckled at his smirk.  
  
"I'd have to agree."  
  
"Think we can stand to bring the blankets in yet? There's rain on the way."  
  
"Huh? I haven't smelled any." Jillas paused. "But then, I haven't been smelling very much of anything yet."  
  
"It's still up in the hills, you can see the clouds," Gravos replied.  
  
Jillas followed him out of the back kitchen door, and looked up over the roofs to the towering cloud formations. "Oh dear, that looks to be a rather bad storm. I hope oneesan and Lord Valgaav don't get caught in it."  
  
"Eh, they'll be fine," Gravos replied. "Boss knows how to take care of himself, and Filia too." Jillas caught the pillows as Gravos pulled off the pins until the stack was too high to see over anymore. He tottered into the kitchen, making his way tentatively to the living room, until he collided with the wall.  
  
"Door's two feet to your right," Gravos said helpfully, standing behind him with an armload of blankets and rugs.  
  
It took another trip to bring everything inside, and then Jillas sorted out what stayed in the living room from what belonged in Filia's bedroom.  
  
"Want me to get the laundry water started?" Gravos asked as Jillas gathered up Filia's bedding.  
  
Jillas froze, and his ears twitched as his remaining eye widened. "We forgot the laundry!"  
  
"Relax, we'll do it now."  
  
"Will it be done and dry before the rain hits?"  
  
"It might not even blow this way, and if it does, it might already be rained out."  
  
"Well, that's true." Jillas beamed. "Okay, get the water ready. I'll put oneesan's things back in her room." After he made the bed up again, Jillas headed out back to check on Gravos.  
  


* * *

  
Gravos was pouring the last bucket of near-boiling water into the washtub when Jillas showed up. "Ah, just in time! Got the water and the soap all ready for you, Jillas," Gravos said, pointing to the washtub.  
  
Jillas hesitated, shuffling his feet against the ground. "Uh, Gravos? How about you wash and I hang?"  
  
"Huh? I'm taller! I'm better at hanging!" Gravos didn't like the direction of this conversation.  
  
"I'm furry! Do you have any idea how bad wet fox smells?"  
  
Gravos sweatdropped. "I don't wanna do the wash! How did your women manage it?"  
  
"Very carefully?"Jillas suggested, then whined and pointed to his arms. "Fur!"  
  
Gravos sighed and muttered. "Fine, fine, fine. I'll wash," he groused, grabbing a shirt out of the basket and plunging it into the steaming hot water. "I feel like a woman."  
  
"That's more than I needed to know about you, boss," Jillas replied, and wound up with a sodden shirt covering his face. Spluttering, he pulled it off and threw it back to Gravos, who caught it easily with a smirk.   
  
He picked up the washboard, putting it in the tub. Fishing the bar of soap out of the water, Gravos held it to the shirt, and rubbed both of them against the metal ribs of the board. Jillas hurried over to the shed to drag out a crate to stand on so he could reach the clothesline, starting to sneeze yet again. Neither of them said very much through the first few articles of clothing, mostly because Jillas was too busy sneezing, and Gravos was trying not to blush as he realized he was handling decidedly female underthings.  
  
It had to be one of the most undignified moments of his life.  
  
"Hey, boss?" Jillas asked a few minutes later as he clamped some wooden pins over one of Filia's white petticoats, securing it to the line.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You ever wonder if there's more of your kind out in the world?"  
  
Gravos paused in scrubbing, frowning in thought. "Not in a good while. Why?"  
  
"Ever want to try to find them?"  
  
"Nah." Gravos shook his head. "Even if they are, they're not _my_ family, y'know? It wouldn't be the same. Besides, I'm happy here." Resuming scrubbing, he shrugged. "Don't rock the boat and all that. What about you?"  
  
"I know I'm not the only fox out there. I ran into a widow and her kit, cute little thing. Palu."  
  
"Oh?" Gravos looked up at him. "When was this?"  
  
"Before Lord Valgaav brought Darkstar back."  
  
"Think they're okay?"  
  
"I don't know. I haven't seen them. I kind of forgot about them for a while, actually. There was just so much going on, with oneesan and finding out Lord Valgaav was still alive."  
  
Gravos studied Jillas as he handed over the freshly-rinsed item. "Why not go find them? Talk to boss and Filia, I'd bet they'd let you move them here, to the village at least."  
  
"I don't know. I'll think about it. It was a long ways off, and I doubt I could make it there and back again by the first snow."  
  
"Well, why not wait till after the spring thaw? That'd give you time to talk it over and figure out what you want to do."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"What's the problem?"  
  
"Well..." Jillas hesitated, hopping off the crate to retrieve more clothes to hang. "It would feel weird. I mean, we're just us. The only Fox, the only Ogre, the only Ancient, the only Golden. If I brought them here, that wouldn't be the same."  
  
"Like I said, Jillas, ya gots till spring thaw at least to figure this out."  
  
Jillas made an agreeing sound, as he currently had a mouthful of wooden pins, climbing back up on the crate.  
  
"You reckon there's any more Goldens?" Gravos asked after a few minutes.  
  
Jillas was quiet, considering that, then shook his head. "If there were more Goldens, then why wouldn't there be more Ancients? Lord Valgaav was pretty insistent on that point, that they were all dead."  
  
"Well, ya gotta case there, I guess."  
  
"Besides, I don't think oneesan would want anything to do with them even if there _were_ other Goldens out there."  
  
"They can't _all_ be like those, I mean, Filia's not," Gravos said.  
  
"Yeah, but..." Jillas shook his head. "The head guy was gonna just let that namagomi kill her. Said she was dispensable. That hit her pretty hard, 'cause I figure, she must've looked up to him the way we do with Lord Valgaav."  
  
"Ouch..."  
  
"Yeah. Ouch."  
  
A few minutes later, they were just a little more than halfway through the chore of washing clothes. Gravos decided to change the topic. "What would be good is if you figured out a way do make something that would do this sort of thing for us."  
  
Jillas paused, glancing at the washtub, frowning thoughtfully. "Hmm. Yeah. But how to get it to scrub itself?"  
  
"Beats me. You're the one with the brains for that kind of figuring," Gravos replied, giving him a faint smirk as he handed over a pair of pants.  
  
"It would make things easier come winter, certainly," Jillas said, and fell quiet as he stuck some pins in his mouth, clambering back up on the crate. "Hmm."  
  
Good new topic, but not one good for spawning more conversation. Jillas lapsed into a distracted sort of preoccupation, hanging clothes almost automatically. Bored with the repetitive task of washing clothes, Gravos looked up at the sky, squinting against the afternoon light as he checked on the clouds.  
  
Far off in the distance, he could see flickers of lightning in the clouds, and he could also make out the unique scent it had, carried down on the wind, mixed in with the humid, earthy odor of fresh rain. The clouds also seemed to be coming over the hill. Hmm. So he'd definitely have to keep an eye on that in case they had to bring in the clothes on short notice.  
  
"I GOT IT!" Jillas shouted, loud enough that Gravos jumped.  
  
"Argh! What're ya yellin' about?!"  
  
"I know how to build it now! Well, I think I do, it might need work, but I know what to do! I do, I do!" Jillas shoved the last pin down on the shirt he was hanging and jumped off the crate, running for the door.  
  
"Where are ya goin'?!" Gravos demanded, getting to his feet.  
  
Jillas turned around, still heading for the door. "I have to get this down! I know how to design it! I know what to do!"  
  
"Do _what_?"  
  
"A device to wash clothes!" Jillas ran inside.  
  
Gravos blinked, and looked to the remaining items that still needed washing, and smacked his hand to his forehead. "Ya scatteredbrained fox!" he roared at the door, which still swung on its hinges. "I didn't mean right _now_!"  
  
Jillas didn't reappear.  
  
Gravos looked at the freshly-washed towel in his hand and sighed, lumbering over to the line to hang it. "Me an' my big mouth," he groused.  
  


* * *

  
It was well into the evening by the time the storm hit the village, and any clothes that weren't yet completely dry were hanging on improvised lines or draped over the backs of chairs near the kitchen fireplace. Jillas had long since abandoned his sketching, and was now pacing from room to room, door to door, wringing his hands worriedly.  
  
"Where _are_ they, boss?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time.  
  
"I don't _know_, Jillas. Probably under shelter somewhere, if I know the boss," Gravos replied yet again.  
  
He whined, and jumped slightly at another crash of thunder. "I'm going to go check on the water for oneesan's bath."  
  
"Suit yourself," Gravos replied, kicking back and propping his feet up on the table, and added under his breath, "I don't think it's gone anywhere since you checked it five minutes ago."  
  
On the fireplace in the kitchen was a pot of water, steaming at just below a boil, and on the countertop was a pot of tea, just waiting for the water to be added. Over in the bathroom's fireplace was another pot of water, although admittedly, it was closer to being a cauldron.  
  
Jillas had fashioned a pulley system running from the bathroom window to the pump to allow for faster and easier tub filling. The iron tongue inside the fireplace on which the caldron hung swung out as most of them did, but the cauldron had a handle on the opposite side, and Gravos had hammered out one edge to allow for easier pouring. Several buckets of water could be heated to a boil, and then poured into the water which would already be in the large porcelain tub, making a nice hot bath.  
  
A hole had been drilled in the tub's bottom, and Jillas created a tight-fitting stopper to place over it. A corresponding hole had been made in the wall of the house. Gravos had forged a pipe, and that was connected between the two, making emptying the tub a simple matter of wiggling the stopper out of the hole to allow the water to drain outside.  
  
At the moment, cold water lay in the tub, awaiting the addition of the boiling water from the cauldron. If the weather outside was any indication, a hot bath would probably be rather welcome by the time they made it home.  
  
If they _did_ make it home that night.  
  
Gravos wasn't too worried. Valgaav knew how to find shelter, and he just figured they probably would vote to remain there rather than venture back out into the storm. Listening to the rain pounding steadily on the roof and windows, Gravos grinned. Maybe a night off by themselves somewhere was just what those two needed.  
  
The sudden ringing of the front door slamming open, striking the wall, caused Gravos to jump and topple over backwards with a startled yell. He quickly clambered to his feet and rushed to the hallway to find Valgaav kicking the door shut. It took Gravos a moment to figure out what was so odd about the situation. Valgaav's wings were back out, and flared around him, crossing in front.  
  
"Boss! You okay? Where's Filia?" Gravos asked, stepping back quickly to allow Valgaav into the kitchen.  
  
Valgaav merely drew his wings back, answering Gravos' question as he revealed Filia in his arms, clinging to him. "I guess I misjudged how fast the storm was moving," he said wryly. "I thought it would have already passed by here." He carefully lowered Filia to her feet.  
  
Gravos noticed she was shivering, staying huddled up against Valgaav for warmth, and the shirt he had been wearing was around her shoulders. "We've got a--"  
  
"Oneesan!" Jillas came flying into the kitchen and crashed into the two dragons as he hugged Filia. "I was so worried about you!"  
  
Filia opened her eyes, and gave the foxman a small smile as she sluggishly patted his head. "M'okay, Jill's," she murmured, her words slurred as if drunk.  
  
"C'mon," Valgaav said. "Let's go get you warmed up."  
  
"We got a hot bath ready," Jillas said, managing to say what Gravos had been trying to point out a moment ago.  
  
"Great, thanks." Valgaav started to lead Filia from the kitchen, but she stopped.  
  
"Go pour it," she said softly, referring to the hot water. "I'll get my robe and things."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Filia nodded. "I'm okay, just need to get the chill out."  
  
"Want me to bring you some tea?" Jillas asked.  
  
"After I'm done." Using the wall for support, Filia shuffled off to her bedroom.  
  
"Gravos, can you get some soap and a towel? I'll clean up in here," Valgaav said as he ducked out to go ready Filia's bathwater.  
  
"Sure thing, boss."  
  


* * *

  
Finally, peace and quiet, if it could even be deemed as such. Valgaav relaxed on the couch, just listening to the sound of the fire crackling and hissing, as if it were engaged in a lively argument with the rain that showed no sign of letting up, pattering and drumming against the house, seeking admittance. Every so often, the thunder rumbled distantly, like a grouchy old man throwing in his own two cents worth to the debate, the sound growing fainter as the worst of the storm moved away.  
  
The house was otherwise silent; Filia had turned in shortly after her bath, and Jillas and Gravos had followed suit a half hour previously. She hadn't shown Valgaav any indication as to whether or not she would welcome him in her room, and until she did, he wasn't going to press the issue. Time was insignificant, and the rapid progression felt like a snowball picking up speed into an avalanche. He could still conjure up the memory of the sensations, her lips responding to his own with a timid urgency, the way her body had pressed to his, instinctively seeking out something yet undiscovered.  
  
The sheer force of the desire that memory alone was able to create provoked feelings in equal parts of panic and impatience. Annoyed, he rolled over onto his side, staring at the fire. His wings had long since been retracted, and although it was true that they no longer ignited the intense agony that they once did, he hadn't been wholly truthful with Filia that it didn't hurt. It was just virtually nothing in comparison to what it had been. Valgaav had considered just leaving them out for the time being, but it was difficult to get comfortable on the couch.  
  
The fire was hypnotic, and he suddenly found himself snapping out of the dazed tranced it had lulled him into, and breathed deeply. The air in the house smelled clean and sweetly humid from the rain, laced with tendrils of woodsmoke, and underscored by the fading tangs of soap and tea. Valgaav forced himself to sit, and rubbed a hand over his face, trying for a clearer head. The day had been so long and stressful that he was beginning to regret turning down his servants' offer of taking over the duties of keeping watch.  
  
Valgaav pushed himself to his feet and stretched, flexing his back and arm to work out the stiffness which threatened after his near-miss with the old well. He couldn't help but smirk in dismay as he considered how many times Filia had saved his life since they first met.  
  
"I don't deserve her," he murmured under his breath, resting his arm on the mantle as he stared down into the fire.  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
Filia's soft voice caused him to jump and spin to face her. "You're awake? Is everything all right?" Quickly, he crossed the room over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.  
  
"Woke up cold," she answered, and she was still shivering.  
  
"Why don't you sleep out here tonight?" he suggested.  
  
"I will." She hesitated, then stepped closer, resting her head against his chest. "You can stay."  
  
Valgaav blinked, then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. "All right." He led her over to the couch, tucking the blanket around her securely before sitting on the floor.  
  
Filia lay still on the couch for only a moment before crawling off, dragging the pillows and blankets with her, and snuggled up to him. "So..." she drawled sleepily, sticking her stockinged feet out from under the blankets, her heels resting on the hearthstones as she wriggled her toes, soaking up the heat from the flames, "why do you say that?"  
  
Valgaav pulled the blanket a bit to cover himself as well, draping his arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes it just feels as though you're too wonderful to be real," he whispered, nuzzling her hair. "After everything I've done, and I still end up with someone like you..?"  
  
"Then you must have done something right along the line somewhere," she replied, moving her head slightly, nuzzling him back.  
  
"I can't even begin to think what."  
  
"Saving Jillas and Gravos, protecting my reputation, helping me, need I go on?"  
  
Valgaav kissed her forehead. "I love you, Filia."  
  
"Mmm. I love you too, Valgaav," she replied, stifling a yawn.  
  
He withdrew his arm very gently. "Why don't you move back up onto the sofa? You'll be more comfortable."  
  
"Nuh-huh." To emphasize her point, she snuggled closer, tightening her arm over his waist.  
  
"Filia, I need to get up, or I'll fall asleep."  
  
"So?"  
  
"I'm on first shift for watch, remember?"  
  
"So? I'm right here. What'd happen to me right here?" She was practically on his lap by then.  
  
Considering he actually hadn't wanted to get up all that badly to start with, she was providing some rather damning arguments against the idea. Valgaav just gave up with a soft chuckle, although he still pulled away from her. "Give me a minute, then."   
  
He stood and helped her to her feet as well, moving her aside while he pulled the cushions off the sofa, putting them on the floor, and set up the pillows. Once he was done, he sat down with his back to the sofa, and held his hand out to Filia. She readily joined him, and he pulled the blankets around them both, holding her securely.  
  
"Mmm. I could get used to this," she murmured, nuzzling his chest as she rolled over to face him.  
  
"Yeah, that's the general idea." He gently kissed her forehead. "Get some rest."  
  


* * *

  
Habit and the chimes of the grandfather clock downstairs were what roused Jillas. He almost drifted back to sleep when it hit him that he was _oversleeping_. Why hadn't Lord Valgaav woken him for his shift like he always did? With a hundred and one bad scenarios running through his mind, Jillas quickly kicked off his blankets and got to his feet, almost tripping over a bucket they had set up to catch some water dripping through the roof.  
  
He almost started hollering for Valgaav, but thought better of it as he instead chose to stealthily sneak down the ladder. If there was something wrong, it would be wiser to try and avoid tipping someone off that he were awake. On the other hand, if Lord Valgaav, as tired as Jillas knew he had been, had merely nodded off, then waking him now would serve no purpose.  
  
Well, aside from producing a rather grouchy and irritable dragon.  
  
Jillas snuck toward the living room, avoiding the creaking spots in the floor, and peered around the couch.  
  
And grinned.  
  
Lord Valgaav was sound asleep, and so was oneesan. She was almost hidden under the blankets and his arms, but the gold river of hair spilling over the floor was a rather big clue.  
  
No wonder he hadn't been woken up for his shift. Jillas put in even more effort to ensure his silence as he backed out of the room, and quietly padded off to the kitchen. He was awake, he might as well get back to work on the plans for a washing device.  
  


_to be continued..._   



	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Note to Readers:** Random trivia. The name "Varsha", which will appear in this chapter, is a Hindu name for "rainfall". So I like irony... Remember, feedback is to fanfic writers what negative emotions are to a Mazoku -- and the lack thereof is like being locked in a room with Pollyanna.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Twenty One

  
  
"Oneesan, are you sure you don't want me or Boss going out for you?" Jillas asked, standing next to Filia by the window.  
  
Filia let the curtain drop with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I'm not quite certain what I'm going to need to buy to fill that order for that custom vase. I need to look over what paints are available myself."  
  
"Then maybe go another day when it's not so wet?"  
  
"That's a luxury I don't think we have now. It's barely stopped raining at all in the last two days, and doesn't seem to be showing signs of letting up."  
  
Jillas patted her arm. "In that case, I'll have some hot water ready for tea and a bath to warm you up when you come back." He gave her a beaming smile. "We don't want you catching your death of cold."  
  
"And with you, it could all too easily become literal," she heard Valgaav say, and jumped slightly as his arms went around her waist, nuzzling her neck.  
  
"Where did you come from?" Filia asked, not having heard his approach. She couldn't help but blush furiously at the blatant display of affection put forth in front of someone else. Jillas just chuckled and patted her arm, moving away.  
  
"From an egg?" Valgaav asked, giving her a smart-alecky smirk, which earned him a light thwap on his shoulder.  
  
"You're impossible."  
  
"Not with you," he said, and there was just enough of a leer in his tone that Filia blushed even more, looking at him with wide, almost indignant eyes.  
  
"Valgaav!" she chided under her breath.  
  
"What?" Arguments were starting to flee coherent thought when his lips brushed over her ears as he whispered. "If it's because of Jillas and Gravos, it's not as though they're going to think any less of you."  
  
He was right. She knew this. But _still_! Such forthrightness! It just _wasn't done_! She started to point that out, but when he lightly nipped her earlobe, her train of thought collided in a wreck that was even messier than the disaster Lina and Zelgadis caused at the Karyouh no Shinden.  
  
"Shall we depart?" he whispered.  
  
"Hrm?" she murmured lazily, leaning back against him. "Depart where?"  
  
Valgaav chuckled softly. "For the market."  
  
Reality snapped back into focus, and she blushed a deep crimson. "Oh! Yes, yes, of course," she stammered, pulling away and trying to recollect her wits. "Yes, just, ah...just let me fetch my clo--" She was cut off as Valgaav picked her cloak off the chair and placed it on her arms. Filia blinked rapidly as she stared at the cloak, thrown off stride. Then she attempted to get back on track. "Yes, er, very good, um, oh! And a bask--" A wicker basket was likewise deposited on top of the cloak. Valgaav was watching her with a very mischievous smirk. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing to her, and Filia scowled. "And my list!"  
  
He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket. "Would this be it?" he inquired, turning it to show her.  
  
Filia closed her eyes. "Yes, yes, that's very good." She shot him a glare. "You did all this on purpose, didn't you?"  
  
All she got in answer was a shrug and a look of wide-eyed innocence that was just a bit _too_ innocent. Muttering good-naturedly, she fastened the cloak around her and pulled up the hood. Valgaav was already wearing his own, and he opened the door with a grand, sweeping gesture.  
  
"After you, my lady."  
  
Filia stared at him then shook her head, smiling in bemusement as she stepped out into the rain. Somehow, she was never able to stay even mildly annoyed with him for long. She kept her head ducked for the hood to protect her face, and the basket on her arm under the cloak. Valgaav fell into stride with her and she felt one hand resting against the small of her back through the cloak possessively. She felt a blush burn her cheeks, but whether it was from being flustered at the contact, or in pleased happiness, it was anyone's guess.  
  
In spite of the rain, it was fairly busy among the market square. There were still businesses to operate, purchases to make, errands to run. Most villagers were made of sterner stuff than to let the steady downpour and the soupy conditions of the roads which hadn't been laid with cobblestones stop them. However, it did mean that travel was curtailed, and getting from one place to another was a slower process. More people were about and about at the same time due to that, when normally some would be already finished with their errands as others were starting out. The shops were likewise crowded, as people ducked in for a respite from the rain, and to catch up on news and town gossip.  
  
Valgaav ushered Filia into the general store, and although she hated crowds, the stuffy heat radiating from the potbellied stove and the warm bodies packed in the building was welcome after the chill of the rainy wind. Valgaav looked uncomfortable though, and he moved his arm tightly around Filia's waist. He kept her flush against him as they moved first to the paints, and then to the textiles for some spools of thread and other sundries.  
  
"If you want to wait by the door?" Filia suggested, noting the tense look in his eyes.  
  
Valgaav shook his head. "Not gonna chance leaving you alone."  
  
Giving him a small, affectionate smile, Filia patted his cheek and stopped by the shelf of paints, looking over the various products in an attempt to find the correct shade of red. She could always mix the colors to obtain it, but that was a tricky process. If she didn't make enough first time around, it was nigh on impossible to get the exact hue again.  
  
"There you are, Missus Filia! I was about to go to your shop next!"  
  
Filia looked up at the feminine voice as Valgaav stiffened, both of them scanning the crowd until they spotted the slight brown-haired woman moving toward them.  
  
"Oh, good day, Missus Varsha," Filia said, smiling at her customer. "How are you?"  
  
She appeared a bit embarrassed. "I've been better, truth be told. Joseph was laid up with that cough, if you remember."  
  
Filia nodded, listening.  
  
"Well, he wasn't able to get the fields finished before the rains came, and we barely managed to save enough to tide us over the winter, let alone sell." Missus Varsha blushed furiously, ducking her head. "The tea set I ordered? I'm afraid we just don't have the money. I'm hoping to sell enough quilts to pay off the store as it is."  
  
Filia smiled and patted her shoulder. "I know how that can go. I'll tell you what. Why don't you come by and pick it up when it's finished drying, and you can pay me back later when circumstances look up a bit more?"  
  
Missus Varsha's eyes widened. "Oh, but I couldn't possibly!" she protested. "Missus Filia, it wouldn't be right!"  
  
"Don't worry ab--" Filia stopped, something sinking in, and she blinked. "Did you just say 'missus'?"  
  
"Well, of course." Missus Varsha raised an eyebrow. "You two are married, are you not?"  
  
"That we are," Valgaav said before Filia could answer, and she ducked her head to hide the blush, hearing the faint smirk in his tone.  
  
Missus Varsha chuckled, and patted Filia's arm. "Still a shy one, I see. But I just couldn't take that set without giving something in return."  
  
"Then maybe you could do something for me in exchange?" Filia suggested.  
  
"Barter goods instead of gold? That I can do. What would you like me to do?"  
  
"Whatever you decide would be fine, I'm sure," Filia replied. "But please, Missus Varsha, don't put yourself through too much trouble over it. I really am fine with waiting."  
  
"I'll see what I can come up with. Thank you so much, Missus Filia."  
  
"Think nothing of it, please. You have a good day."  
  
"You too! Take care."  
  
After she was out of earshot, Filia turned to Valgaav. "Why did you say that?" she hissed under her breath.  
  
"Say what? That we're married?" he asked. At her nod, he continued. "Heh, Filia, they've been thinking that for months, and I never tried to correct them. Otherwise, you'd risk being a target for gossip, living there with the three of us. Besides, it's more or less true now."  
  
Filia bit her lip. The risk of gossip had never even begun to cross her mind. Then she studied him. "How many months?"  
  
"Since we pretty much moved in there."  
  
She blinked. "But..." Filia trailed off, blinking again, looking at him with wide eyes. "Even then? Even though you couldn't stand me?"  
  
Valgaav shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "You weren't doing a damn improper thing. I figured you deserved that much protection at least, for saving my life."  
  
Filia smiled softly and stood on tiptoe, kissing his cheek. "You're a sweetheart."  
  
"Yeah, but don't tell anyone." He smirked. "I thought I had a reputation to consider."  
  
Filia just grinned and returned back to the paints, finally giving up and selecting the several she needed to set up the correct color, and hoped she bought the right amounts. Next were threads, buttons, and lace for her to mend some of the clothes, and by the time they were able to pay for the purchases and work their way through the crowd which seemed even more dense than when they first came in, Filia realized it was now storming.  
  
The rain was coming down in sheets, which was what had driven more people into shelter, and she could hear the rumble of thunder over the steady sound of rain pounding on the roofs. Together they huddled under the meager protection the shop awning provided, staring at the worsening weather in dismay.  
  
"Do you have anywhere else you needed to go?" Valgaav asked, raising his voice to be heard over the rain.  
  
Filia shook her head. "Even if I did, I'm not that crazy!" He grinned at her.  
  
"That's debatable!"  
  
That comment earned him an elbow in the ribs. "Should we make a run for home, then?"  
  
"Let's wait a few more minutes! Maybe the rain will slack off! Why don't you go back inside and wait by the door? You'll be warmer!"  
  
Filia shook her head, and nuzzled closer to him. "Plenty warm!"  
  
He grinned and hugged her tightly, watching the storm overhead. Filia tried to look up, but rain kept falling into her eyes, hitting her face, running down her neck, under her cloak. How Valgaav could stand it, she didn't know, but Filia lowered her head, keeping shielded under the hood.  
  
She watched a young woman, perhaps no older than her mid-teens, make her way across the mud-soup road, struggling with each step while trying to keep the drenched, threadbare cape she wore secured around her. Then her ears picked up a shout nearly drowned by the storm, and the girl looked up. Filia saw her suddenly lunge forward for the other side, trying to run, only to slip in the mud.  
  
Glancing down the street, her eyes widened as she made out the rain-blurred shape of a runaway team of horses, startled by the thunder. Fear fueled the adrenaline, letting them pull a wagon full of something even through the mud, which splashed like water puddles as they tore through the street. Without even thinking of what she was doing, Filia dropped her own basket and pulled away from Valgaav.  
  
"Levitation!" Keeping just barely a whisker's width above the ground for appearance's sake and seeming to run, Filia flew toward the girl as the team approached, grabbing her around the waist tightly to pull her out of harm's way.  
  
Filia's momentum kept them moving forward, but the thick mud offered enough drag that they both crashed into the ground and rolled. Filia quickly gained control of it and came to rest on top of the girl, curling them both up as small as possible and shielding their heads for the horses to thunder by.  
  
Normally, that would have worked.  
  


* * *

  
Filia was gone from his side before Valgaav could blink, and she was already picking up whoever it was in the middle of the street by the time his mind processed the situation.  
  
A sickening feeling hit him as he realized what would happen even before it actually started as Filia darted in front of the terrified horses.  
  
While Filia appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary human to the other villagers, taking care to keep her tail and tapered ears concealed, Valgaav knew the horses wouldn't be fooled as easily. To everyone else, it was a courageous woman who ran in front of the runaway team, but to them, it was a lethal predator that suddenly appeared before them.  
  
It was too late to do anything but watch.  
  
Whinnying sharply, both of them skidded to a stop, slipping in the mud as they reared back, shying away from Filia. The inertia of the wagon collided with the tongue attached to their harnesses, sending both of the horses crashing to the ground and rolling, neighing shrilly as they flailed.  
  
He lost sight of her then. The sudden stop and twist of the falling horses caused the wagon to tumble over onto its side, spilling out crates, and rolled over twice in the direction he last saw Filia before finally stopping.   
  
But the wagon remained still only briefly as one of the horses managed to regain its footing, attempting to run even as its teammate still lay in the mud, shrieking painfully. The wagon skidded over the mud again, colliding against a crate and coming to a stop. The drag was too much for one horse now.  
  
The commotion brought people out of the shops in spite of the rain, and now that it appeared to be over, bodies pressed forward to circle the scene. Several men ran forward to cut the still-standing horse loose from the harness before any more damage was done, while others raced toward the wagon.  
  
That was where Valgaav went, pushing past everyone to look for Filia. She was half-under the wagon, and from the looks of things, he surmised that it was dragged on top of her when the horse tried to run one last time.  
  
"Filia!" he shouted, moving over and grabbing the wagon, giving it a vicious heave to lift it off her. Two dazed, sapphire blue eyes appeared in the middle of a mud-covered face, and at first, Valgaav had a bloodcurdling fear that she had been severed at the torso. Once his eyes refocused, he realized the weight of the wagon had merely pushed Filia deep into the mud.  
  
With the aid of some of the others, he pulled her free, and alternated between hugging her fiercely and checking her for injuries. "Are you okay?" he demanded, holding her face in his hands, looking into her eyes, wiping the mud off her cheeks.  
  
Filia just nodded, and her eyes seemed slightly unfocused. She was also quaking violently, and appeared to be in shock.  
  
Aside from that, as far as he could tell, both Filia and the girl had escaped with probably some minor bruising at the most, which was a miracle in itself. The ground apparently was saturated enough to give under them, preventing the women from being crushed by the wagon.  
  
He tried to speak, but couldn't. The aftermath of fear was catching up to him, and all he could do was stay kneeling in the mud, holding Filia tightly and trying not to see how close he came to losing her. A sharp crack reverberated in the air and he jumped, looking in the direction of the noise. A man stood with a musket by the second horse, which as far as Valgaav had seen, had never gotten back to its feet.  
  
Valgaav stood, still holding Filia in his arms, and staggered a bit in the mud. A hand on his arm gave him pause, and one of the women held out Filia's basket to him. Giving her a nod of thanks, Valgaav walked away from the pandemonium and returned to the house.  
  
"Jillas! Gravos!" he shouted as he kicked in the kitchen door, knowing it was bound to be one of the warmer rooms with the fire roaring.  
  
The two servants came running in, exclaiming in surprise as they saw him.  
  
"What happened?" Jillas demanded. "Oneesan!"  
  
"I think she's fine, but she's in shock. Gravos, get that table cleared off now! Jillas, get some hot water and a washcloth!" Valgaav lay Filia on the tablecloth, ignoring the sting of the near-boiling water as he plunged the cloth in, and held it up a few seconds to the air to let it cool somewhat before wiping at Filia's face.  
  
"What can we do, boss?" Gravos asked, standing over his shoulder as he looked on worriedly.  
  
"You can get a hot bath drawn up for her immediately. Jillas, clear some of that mud off her boots and pull them off." Filia didn't offer any protest, laying completely still and just breathing. Growing worried, he patted her cheek. "Filia, wake up, stay with me."  
  
She opened her eyes, and they met his own with a dizzy light. "M'here," she managed between chattering teeth.  
  
"You're safe, Filia, everyone's safe. Just hold on, we'll get you warmed up." Valgaav guessed the discordant look in her eyes would fade once she was warmer, and the adrenaline and fear wore off.  
  
"Now what, Lord Valgaav?" Jillas asked, setting the muddy boots by the back door.  
  
"Go and put her robe in the bathroom." He paused, thinking. "And might as well put a change of clothes in there for me, and a sack for the muddy stuff."  
  
"I filled up the tub, boss," Gravos said, looking back into the kitchen as Jillas scurried out.  
  
"Great, thanks." Valgaav unclasped Filia's cloak. "Could you take her up there for me? I'll be just another minute."  
  
"Sure thing." Gently, Gravos picked up Filia, lumbering out of the kitchen and taking care not to hit her head or feet on the doorway.  
  
Valgaav shrugged out of his own cloak and bent down, unlacing his boots and moving over to the hallway entrance, stepping out one foot at a time as he removed the boots, trying not to track any more mud than was there already.  
  
Gravos stood in the bathroom, still holding Filia and looking around when Valgaav walked in.  
  
"Boss, I dunno where to put her down at," Gravos said.  
  
"Never mind that. Just give her to me, and I'll take it from here."  
  
"Sure thing, boss."  
  
After Gravos closed the door behind him, Valgaav carefully set Filia onto her feet, keeping her close to him to steady her. He knew Filia could probably manage this on her own if she had to. He also knew that she didn't have to, and that he really had no desire to let her out of his sight for longer than absolutely necessary.  
  
She murmured in a token protest, raising her hands as he began unbuttoning her blouse, and he stopped. "Filia?"  
  
"Cold."  
  
"We've got a hot bath here for you."  
  
She was still for a moment, then with fumbling fingers, she started helping him. "'kay," she murmured.  
  
The most prevalent thought on his mind was getting her cleaned off, warmed up, and calmed down. Once she was feeling better, he knew he would be.  
  
That was just too close a call for his liking.  
  
As he helped her remove her mud-ruined clothes, Valgaav couldn't help but wonder if he was cursed, or just a jinx. His family. Caitarina. Gaav. All dead.  
  
Today, he thought he was watching Filia, in spite of all his precautions, meet the same fate.  
  
It took all his concentration to keep steady as he helped her into the water, still trying to banish that realization from his mind. Letting go of her reluctantly, Valgaav stepped back, looking around for a water basin to start cleaning the mud off himself.  
  
Spotting it sitting by the bathroom's small stove Jillas had installed to provide additional heat, Valgaav turned to put Filia's clothes in the sack when he noticed she was curled up, her head almost underwater.  
  
"Hey, whoa, c'mon," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her up.   
  
She spluttered and coughed as water splashed on her face, then shot him a slight glare, her eyes already clearer. "I was just getting warm!" she protested, then her eyes became enormous as her heat-pinked skin grew even pinker and she pressed herself up against the edge of the tub, her eyes barely peeking over the rim, trying to hide. "What are you doing in here?" she squeaked.  
  
After all the extreme stress, Valgaav almost laughed. Filia presented such a comical appearance, with her hair still plastered with mud, her eyes just about the only other feature visible over the rim, surrounded by skin that was extraordinarily flushed. In the back of his mind, he knew laughing wouldn't be the wisest of moves on his part, so he bit his lip, smothering a smirk. "You were barely coherent, and yes, I know you needed to get warm."  
  
He eyed what little of her ever-reddening face was visible, framed by her fingertips clutching the rim of the tub on either side, and tried to resist the urge to comment.  
  
Bless his heart, he tried.  
  
"Warm enough yet?" he quipped, giving her a small smirk.  
  
Valgaav hadn't thought it possible for her eyes to get even bigger than they already were, but she proved him wrong. Then immediately thereafter, they narrowed, and her arm appeared over the rim of the tub -- following a nice little tsunami that caught him fully on the face.  
  
"Hentai!" she screeched.  
  
He spluttered, wiping away the water, and smirked wider. "You weren't complaining earlier," he retorted, and this time he was prepared to duck the second wave. "You keep that up, and you'll wind up having to take your bath on the floor 'cause that's where all the water will be."  
  
Filia's reply was to scowl at him.  
  
"If you don't hurry up and wash your hair, the water's going to get cold on you," he continued, standing up and putting her clothes in the bag, starting to remove his own.  
  
"I will once you..." She trailed off and squeaked. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Getting cleaned up. In case you haven't noticed, I've got quite a bit on me too."  
  
"But I'm in here!"  
  
This time he sighed in exasperation. "Yes, I can see that," he retorted, continuing. "I, however, am also rather cold and I don't particularly feel like skulking about the hallway shivering while I wait for you to wake up from your tub-induced nap. Not to mention I'm not all that eager to let you out of my sight at the moment." She started to protest, and he knelt by the tub, grabbing her upper arms gently, pulling her up a bit. Filia squeaked in protest, trying to keep as much of herself past the rim and under water as possible, but she stopped struggling as he spoke. "Do you have _any_ idea what it was like out there today?" he asked quietly, his voice sounding thick even to his own ears. "I almost lost you. There was nothing I could do about it, _nothing_. I had to stand there and watch, and I lost sight of you under that wagon and I thought I'd lost you, just like I'd lost everyone else."  
  
Her expression quickly shifted from embarrassed indignation to a solemn kind of sadness as she reached up and rested her hand on his cheek. Watching her eyes fill with unshed tears, he shook his head. "Ah, hell," he muttered, _sotto voce_, then put his hand behind her neck, holding her steady as he kissed her with an adrenaline-fueled passion that left him breathless.  
  
She rested her forehead against his as the kiss ended, keeping her eyes closed. She was blushing violently, and he wasn't even all that certain at first that he actually heard her speak. "As long as you're here, would you help me wash my hair?"  
  
He kissed her again, more gently this time as his hands released her, removing the rest of his clothes and stepped in with her, holding her tightly. She was tense, her arms crossed over her, and kept her head ducked shyly even as she nuzzled against his chest.  
  
Picking up the soap, he worked up a lather in her hair, gently moving his fingers through the locks, working out the mud and tangles. As she started to relax and some of the shyness began to evaporate, Filia took the soap and began cleaning the dirt off her arms, face and legs.  
  
Valgaav sat up straighter and leaned out of the tub, reaching for the water pitcher resting on the stove. He tested it to make sure that the water wasn't too hot, then carefully poured it over her head, taking his time, slowly making sure he rinsed all the soap out, keeping her hair suspended above the tub water.  
  
Once he was sure it was clean, he squeezed out the excess and grabbed a towel from the shelves behind him. Filia reached up, aiding him in wrapping her hair up in it, turban-style, then shyly picked up the soap and brushed her hands over his chest, not quite meeting his eyes.  
  
Valgaav kept still as so not to startle her into stopping, watched her, entranced. He memorized everything; the pink tint to her cheeks, the way her pale lashes brushed against them as she kept her eyes cast down and away demurely, raising them only to watch her own soap-covered hands as they slid experimentally over his chest and shoulders, never traveling very far.  
  
Finally she stopped, her eyes flickering up to meet his for only half a heartbeat, then drew back slightly, her expression unsure, awkward, timid. Although he wouldn't have traded the moment for anything in creation, it unfortunately hadn't gone very far into getting him clean as well. But she was becoming so bashful and skittish, he dared not do anything more while she was still there. Valgaav grabbed for a second towel and leaned forward, kissing her cheek softly as he took her hand, pressing the towel to it, keeping it out of the tub. "Go on," he whispered.  
  
She quickly took it and, not caring that it dipped into the water, wrapped it securely around herself, getting out and not releasing the towel until she already had her robe closed, if still unfastened. Filia hung the sopping towel up to dry, and paused at the door before she opened it.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, glancing back to him shyly with a tiny smile. The blush grew deeper momentarily, and she hastily left the room.  
  


_to be continued..._   
  
**NOTE: THERE IS A CONTINUATION of this chapter posted separately from this story. That is because that continuation is a Lemon. If you want to read it, and are of legal age to do so, go to my User Info (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=183324) and look for "The Illusion of Truth - Lemon", or search for Story ID#904810. Thank you.**  
  



	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Note to Readers:** To all my reviewers and all the support, I want to say a huge "THANK YOU!" for everything! If it wasn't for you, this 'fic might not have ever been finished. Now because of you, the two sequels will also see completion, lest I be flayed with wet noodles for leaving y'all hanging. ^_~ It's been great, guys.  
~ Zanne  
  


**The Illusion of Truth**  
Chapter Twenty Two

  
  
The humans had a saying. Give someone enough rope, and they'd hang themselves with it.  
  
Taking in the situation from the astral plane, it seemed that Valgaav had managed to tie a very nice noose around his own neck.  
  
His patience had paid off.  
  
All that was left to do was pull the trapdoor to the gallows, and the game would be won.  
  
Xellos smiled.  
  


* * *

  
With several dishes planned out, Filia worked frantically to get them done as soon as possible. Part of it was, she wanted to be finished before anyone realized what she was cooking -- Jillas and Gravos in particular --and the rest of it was that as long as she was completely occupied with what she was doing, she didn't have time to feel guilty.  
  
It all started when a customer who had ordered a tea set had been unable to pay when the rains beat her husband to the harvest. Missus Varsha had insisted on finding a away to pay somehow, since Filia had told her to go ahead and take the set and pay when she could. She had brought over two attractive patchwork quilts, and a brilliantly decorated crazy quilt in exchange for the tea set. The woman had cautioned the winters there grew cold, and gave Filia the patchwork quilts, stating they were for their two servants, then presented her with the crazy quilt as being for 'her husband and herself'.  
  
Filia still found herself blushing at the memory. Ever since that night after the near accident with the horses a week ago... well, lovemaking had become quite... commonplace. Valgaav had moved into the bedroom after then, and no matter how much Filia worried about someone hearing them, it never took long for her to no longer care whether or not they did.  
  
She hadn't been able to go to breakfast a single time in the last week without blushing so vividly, Filia was certain sooner or later her face would take that on as a permanent color.  
  
After Missus Varsha had left that morning, Filia took the quilts up to Jillas and Gravos' bedroom in the attic. It was then that she noticed a few old rags shoved in the wood, and a few beat-up pots in specific places on the floor, and realized the walls were drafty, and the roof leaked. How long it had been like that, neither of them would admit. For all Filia knew, it was in the same condition it was when the house was purchased. When she pressed them for answers, Jillas and Gravos admitted they didn't want to say anything, because she had been so worried about money and getting through the winter.  
  
Filia had removed a hefty sum of coins from the safe and ordered the two out of the house, and not to come back until they bought sufficient supplies to fix the attic. Now they were gone, and she was left to a mad cooking spree of some of their favorite foods to try to assuage some of the guilt.  
  
The only problem lay in the fact that one of Jillas' favorite treats of all time was a cake she had made only once before; a rather exotic dish of chocolate and caramel, with nuts. Scraping up her supplies, she discovered she did have enough to make one. The catch was, it required three eggs. Although Valgaav had apologized, although she didn't blame him in the slightest, Filia was still scared of breaking eggs whenever he was home.  
  
But she really wanted that cake to be ready for supper that night.  
  
Tiptoeing to the door, Filia carefully peeked out into the backyard, and was distracted briefly as she watched Valgaav chopping firewood. He seemed sufficiently occupied, and it was only three. She could chance it. They'd be broken, the shells discarded, and the yolks blended in before he knew it.  
  
Holding two eggs, one in each hand, Filia cracked them both against the counter, then expertly used her fingers to pry both eggs open at once. Quickly, she tossed them into the compost container to take outside later, and reached for the third.  
  
Suddenly her breath congealed in her lungs as she noticed a second shadow being cast on the wall before her.  
  


* * *

  
"Do you think we spent too much?" Jillas asked worriedly.  
  
"Well..." Gravos hesitated. "I've never been too good at that sort of figuring, so I don't know. Did we get anything we don't need to fix things up?"  
  
"No, but..." Jillas' ears drooped. "Oneesan's worried about having money since we'll have to buy a lot of supplies over this winter. Next year will be better, since we'll build a garden and maybe get some animals, but..."  
  
"We'll make do," Gravos assured him, releasing one hand off the load of timber he had balanced on his shoulder to pat Jillas' head as they reached the house, walking around to the back. "Go on inside. I'll take care of this."  
  
Jillas opened the kitchen door, then froze, his hackles immediately rising as his ears went back, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. "BOSS!" he shouted, growling as he cautiously entered. Behind him was a loud clatter of wood as Gravos dropped the lumber and ran up behind him.  
  
"Don't just stand there making noise," the Trickster snapped at them, kneeling open-eyed by Filia among the wreckage in the kitchen. "Do either of you know of any healers locally?"  
  
"Oneesan!" Jillas shouted, staring at Filia. She was clearly unconscious, and while injuries weren't his forte, he didn't like the blood down the side of her face or the obvious bruises. "What did you do to her, you...you...nama--"  
  
Xellos cut him off. "Do you think I would send for a healer if I had done this?" he retorted.  
  
"Lord Valgaav!" Gravos brushed past Jillas, running to crouch at his master's side. "Did you kill him?" he demanded.  
  
"Not yet!" Xellos all but growled. Jillas felt a chill at the look of pure malice in the Mazoku's open amethyst eyes as he glared at Valgaav's still form for a moment. "Will either of you find a healer, or do I have to take her elsewhere?!"  
  
"You're not going anywhere with Oneesan!" Jillas shouted and lunged at him. Xellos brushed him aside easily.  
  
Jillas collided with the wall and sat up, giving his head a little shake to try to clear the ringing sound, and growled again, stopping only when he saw Filia stir.  
  
"What happened?" Gravos demanded.  
  
"What does it look like?" Xellos retorted. "Hmm, she seems to be coming around. Perhaps we have no need of a healer yet." Picking Filia up carefully, Jillas watched as Xellos walked to the living room, pausing only to glower down at Gravos. "And if you value that pathetic crossbreed, you'll keep him away from Miss Filia. Foxman, make yourself useful. Get some water and a cloth, immediately!"  
  
Jillas watched Xellos walk into the living room, laying Filia on the couch, then turned to stare at Gravos in open-mouthed shock. Then, they both glanced down to Valgaav as he groaned, stirring a bit, reaching up to hold his head.  
  
"Lord Valgaav, take it easy," Gravos said, helping him sit up while Jillas fetched a bowl of water and a towel.  
  
"What hap..." Valgaav trailed off as he opened his eyes, taking in the mess in the kitchen. "Filia!"  
  
"Whoa, not so fast," Gravos said, the big ogre easily restraining him. "Filia will be fine."  
  
Jillas' ears drooped, not liking the way things were looking, and hurried into the living room. "Here," he said, placing the items on the table.  
  
"Glad to see you finally decided to grace us with your presence." The annoying voice and smile was back, along with the perpetually closed eyes. With a brisk, cheerful detachment, Xellos began gently cleaning off Filia's face, causing her to groan at the touch and try to pull away, her eyelids fluttering. "Now, Miss Filia, as much as I'm sure you're not looking forward to seeing me, I'm afraid I really must insist that you open your eyes. It would seem that you have sustained quite a lovely knock to the head."  
  
"Did...did Lord Valgaav do this?" Jillas asked, almost inaudibly. His ears drooped almost flat against his head as he twisted his paws, hoping to hear otherwise.  
  
"You already know the answer, I trust," Xellos said evenly, opening one eye to look at Jillas.  
  
The foxman whimpered, sinking down to sit on the table, looking at Filia. "He didn't _mean_ to..."  
  
"That is of no concern of mine," Xellos said flatly. "The fact remains... well, I have no intention of allowing someone so obviously dangerous remain around Miss Filia."  
  
"You're not killing him!" Jillas cried, getting to his feet. The one-eyed stare returned.  
  
"Perhaps, if he is gone before I finish tending to Miss Filia's injures, I'll have other things to worry about." Filia suddenly stiffened, a muffled screech escaping her lips as she stared up at Xellos, her eyes wide but still dazed. Xellos closed his eye and looked down to her, easily preventing Filia from sitting up, smiling cheerfully all the while. "There, there, Miss Filia. You really mustn't exert yourself so. That was quite a nasty hit -- or twenty -- you took."  
  
"Get away from me!" she protested weakly, trying to push his hand away from her head. "Valgaav!"  
  
"It wouldn't be good for you to see one another," Xellos replied. "He is very lucky he is still alive, and you are likewise fortunate that I arrived when I did."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Miss Filia, whatever were you thinking?" Xellos chided. "Once a violent, dangerous dragon, always a violent, dangerous dragon. Just because someone has a brush with near-death doesn't mean he will change his spots, or wings and scales, as the case may be. It doesn't change the fact that he is an Ancient, and you are a Golden, and that is that."  
  
Jillas had to look away, unable to take the sight of the devastated look on Filia's face.  
  
"You're lying," he heard Filia whimper softly.  
  
There was silence, and then Xellos' voice chilled his blood.  
  
"I do not lie, Miss Filia." There was a dangerous edge to it that promised dark things to anyone who would care to challenge that statement. "When have I ever?"  
  
"I want to see him..."  
  
"No. That would definitely not be wise." The cheerfully annoying tone was back, but it had a layer hidden somewhere within that made Jillas feel Xellos was far more angry than he let on.  
  
When he heard Filia starting to weep softly, Jillas couldn't remain there for another moment longer. Quietly standing, he slipped back to the kitchen.  
  


* * *

  
Everything he was seeing was adding up, but Valgaav was trying desperately not to think of the sum. He couldn't have, could he?  
  
"Boss?" Gravos asked, "what happened?"  
  
Valgaav shook his head slowly, and started to get to his feet. Gravos at first tried to stop him, but a look from Valgaav had him abandoning that route quickly enough. Helped to his feet by the big ogre man, Valgaav leaned dizzily on the counter, and picked up a smashed bit of pottery.  
  
"You two were gone," Valgaav said slowly, frowning in thought as he slowly turned the pottery over in his hands. "Filia was in the house, cooking. I was getting more firewood..."  
  
"And?" Gravos prodded.  
  
Valgaav stared blankly at the wall, then closed his eyes, trying to retrace his actions. "I put the axe down, I remember that..." His voice lowered. "Barely."  
  
"Anything else?" Gravos' expression was worried.  
  
Try as he might, everything was black, and anything else that he did recall was like an imaginary ghost one might see when the eyes played tricks, a vague, quick flicker out of the corner of the eye that would disappear when one might look directly upon it. Slowly, he shook his head. "Filia?" His voice was hoarse even to his own ears. "Where is she?"  
  
Gravos hesitated. "The living room, I think. Jillas is wi--"  
  
He was cut off by a scared shriek from the living room, Filia's voice. Reflexively, Valgaav stood upright, pushing away from the counter, trying to ignore the fact that even though he stopped turning around, the room did not. Gravos grabbed his shoulders, both steadying him and stopping his advance.  
  
"What happened to her?"  
  
"She...we came back. The kitchen was like this, and she..." He hesitated. "She was knocked out."  
  
Gravos was leaving out details, Valgaav was sure of it. He could smell blood, and knew it wasn't his own. "You stopped me?" he whispered under his breath.  
  
The servant didn't answer immediately. "No. Xellos did."  
  
Valgaav's gaze immediately snapped to Gravos' lone remaining eye. "What?" he demanded, snarling. "That damned Mazoku is here?"  
  
Gravos' next words hit him like a Giga Slave. "He's treating her injuries."  
  
"How bad off is she?" he whispered, his voice dropping again.  
  
He hated the pause from Gravos. "I don't know."  
  
Valgaav rested his head in his hands, leaning on his elbows on the counter, trying to fight off the sick sensation inside. It was unthinkable, the idea that he would have injured Filia in such a manner, but...however unthinkable it might be, it didn't change the reality of the kitchen, or the fact that he _had_ done as much in the past, or would have if Gravos hadn't stopped him.  
  
"Lord Valgaav?"  
  
He looked up then at Jillas' tentative query, seeing the foxman in the doorway, ears drooped, wringing his hands in agitation. "Yes, Jillas?" he softly inquired, feeling every second his true linear age.  
  
Jillas stammered for a few moments, but Valgaav heard the unfinished questions nevertheless. _How could you do this? Why did you do this? What happened?_ Finally, he settled on one. "Are you all right?"  
  
_Am I all right...?_ Valgaav couldn't help but chuckle humorlessly over how absurd the question sounded in his ears. Jillas and Gravos exchanged worried looks.  
  
"Boss?" Gravos asked.  
  
Valgaav waved them off. "Filia?" he asked.  
  
"She's awake. She doesn't seem to be hurt too badly."  
  
"Thank L-sama," he breathed, leaning heavily on the countertop again.  
  
"But maybe you'd better go."  
  
Valgaav's gaze snapped back to Jillas, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What did you say?"  
  
"Jillas?" Gravos sounded likewise incredulous.  
  
The foxman cringed even more, his tail tucked between his legs, his entire body language meek and submissive. "I...Lord Valgaav, it's Xellos. He's tending to her now, but said if you're still here when he finishes, he'll kill you..."  
  
Gravos frowned worriedly.  
  
"The hell I'm leaving her alone with that shitbag of a Mazoku!" Valgaav snapped.  
  
All three of them jumped when Xellos suddenly appeared in the kitchen, glaring at Valgaav with open eyes. Reflexively, he growled and clenched his fists.  
  
"And what might you suggest?" Xellos asked, sneering at him. "Might you suggest that I leave her alone with a violent, unpredictable halfbreed who carries such a deep and abiding hatred for Miss Filia's entire race that you would bring harm to her for no other reason that what she is?"  
  
"Like you wouldn't kill her!" Valgaav shouted.  
  
"On the contrary, if I wished her dead, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." Xellos' entire face was alight in unholy glee.  
  
Valgaav wasn't ready to back down just yet. "If all this is true," he growled, "why am I still alive?"  
  
"You wish for me to rectify that?" Xellos asked, starting to raise his staff. "Then by all means..."  
  
"No!" both Gravos and Jillas shouted in unison, moving in front of Valgaav protectively.  
  
The gesture, however noble, was also futile, and both Xellos and Valgaav knew it.  
  
"If you wish to die for your pathetic master, then so be it," Xellos sneered, stretching out his hand toward them.  
  
No one expected a delicate, trembling hand to appear from behind him and wrap over his gloved one. Xellos stumbled briefly, off-guard by the weight, and caught Filia in his arms.  
  
Valgaav leaned back against the wall dizzily, trying to shut his eyes against the sight of Filia, her blue frock stained in various foodstuff and blood, her lovely face marred with swollen, darkening bruises. One of her eyes remained closed, the pale skin surrounding it a violent blackish red.  
  
"Miss Filia," Xellos chided. "You know you shouldn't be up and about just yet, and certainly not putting any weight on that ankle."  
  
"Spare them," she murmured.  
  
The room was quiet as they all looked to Filia.  
  
"What?" Xellos asked, clearly annoyed.  
  
"Please, let him go. He didn't mean to..."  
  
The final factor in the equation. Valgaav struggled to keep himself under control as he opened his eyes, and walked to the door.  
  
"Lord Valgaav!" Jillas ran after him.  
  
"Stay," Valgaav said quietly, not turning around. "You two belong with Filia now. Help her. She needs you more than I do."  
  
Jillas whined softly, but said nothing more.  
  
At the doorway, he paused only once, looking back over his shoulder. Xellos stood across the kitchen, holding Filia, a triumphant smirk of evil jollity on his face. Tears ran unchecked down Filia's cheeks, and her lower lip trembled from the strain of holding in a sob as she watched him.  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, Valgaav managed to will his voice to remain steady for one more statement, even if the timbre was a hushed whisper. "I'm so sorry, Filia." She choked on the sob she was trying to hold back then, pressing her hands to her mouth. Closing his eyes, Valgaav turned away. "Ai shiteru."  
  
He tried not to hear her crying as he walked away. Apparently, all the while, he had been protecting her from the wrong threat. Time to change that.  
  


* * *

  
"Well, if you two are remaining behind to aid Miss Filia, you can start by taking her to her room, and seeing that her needs are met," Xellos said cheerfully, thoroughly reveling in the banquet of emotions being provided.  
  
They both stared at him for a long moment, disgust mingling into the other emotions plainly visible on their faces, then the ogre moved closer, holding his arms out.  
  
With much less care than it would appear, Xellos deposited Filia in Gravos' arms. "And once Miss Filia is comfortable, do see about doing something to this kitchen. I simply can't abide such an untidy appearance."  
  
Smirking cheerfully as the two servants left with his dragon, Xellos teleported up to the roof, watching as Valgaav walked away. Should he kill him? Xellos recalled the utter torment in the onetime Mazoku's eyes, and beamed. Of course not. Death was a release, and this was just too much fun. Besides, he really didn't matter anymore. Miss Filia was his now.  
  
His queen.  
  
"Checkmate," Xellos said quietly, grinning.  
  
  
  
  


**The end.  
  
...Or is it?  
  
Keep a lookout for the next book to the saga,  
"All Through the Night"  
  
**


End file.
